


The Father and the Sun

by Lizzy_burden



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, F/M, Fluff, Love, PWP, Porn With Plot, Romance, Slow Burn, Smut, Tension, misunderstood villain, secret
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:07:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25921069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizzy_burden/pseuds/Lizzy_burden
Summary: Shortly after the battle against Hybern, Helion of Day Court is struggling to keep balance and order in his own court, and harmony between the others.  His world is further shifted when his past lover, Beron's wife, Lady of Autumn, a female he never forgot, comes back into his life with shocking news....Lucien Vanserra is desperately attempting to do his duties in Night Court under Feyre and Rhysand's rule, but having his unresponsive mate so near, and untouchable drives him mad.  His life has been on a downward spiral since the scourge of Spring, and with new developments, it will never be the same.  Is there a balm for his turmoil? Or just a distraction?
Relationships: Elain Archeron & Lucien Vanserra, Eris Vanserra/Queen Vassa, Helion/The Lady of the Autumn Court (ACoTaR), Lucien Vanserra/Nuala
Comments: 12
Kudos: 43





	1. The Messenger

Helion of the Day Court lounged back in his seat at the head of the map table, listening intently to his generals and counselors.  
  
The war with Hybern had ended seven months ago, and all of the courts were struggling with recovery and rebuilding.  
  
While Day had received minimal damage, there had been extensive damage to the armies, and thus families were in mourning and new recruits already being selected for training.  
  
However, the most difficult work came from assistance to other courts and the lands between.  
  
Tensions were still high with Spring and Autumn, Day and Dawn being the two most neutral, and so had been tasked with in between errands.

Forces with food and supplies were being sent across the Myrmidons and through court boundaries every day, but Helion's resources were running low and, as his advisors and informants had now explained, their main path out of Day and into both Summer and Winter was blocked.  
No troops of healers and supplies were making it through for at least a month, perhaps more.  
  
Helion sat forward, still listening and gazing intently at the maps, studying the ranges and plains in hopes that he would miraculously find a solution. When his eyes began to swim he stood, bracing his arms on the table.

His Head of Agriculture, Amun, stopped speaking mid sentence.  
Helion looked at each weary face, all of them just as worn and tired as he.

"The meeting is adjourned. Rest, and we will continue next week."

He could almost feel a sigh of relief as he saw his friends and advisors' shoulders droop with exhaustion.  
  
They collected their papers and plans, which were most likely all long shots, and filed to the great golden doors.

"Thank you," Helion called.  
"You've all done excellent work."

He felt a weak acknowledgement from them and waited until the last one left and the gold doors fell shut.  
A muffled thump sounded as they sealed once more, the lions and snakes and scarab beetles carved into them staring coldly back.  
Accusingly.  
Helion slumped back into his chair, elbows on his knees, scrubbing at his face with his hands.  
His white, thin clothes that wrapped up in a shendyt and a loose, open vest like article became constricting and choking, the weight of all his responsibility after the fighting was all said and done overwhelming him.  
Absentmindedly, he reached a hand across to his arm and rubbed the thin, serpent shaped arm band around his bicep.  
The yellow metal warmed at his touch, and the action calmed him if only a little bit.  
Had his mind not been elsewhere, the scent of a crisp fire and a cool wind would have swept by his nose and alerted him to a familiar and generally unwelcome presence.  
But when the doors swung open, he was woefully unprepared, if only for the servant who stood there.  
"My Lord Helion."  
Helion immediately corrected his posture, standing, and inclined his head to the youngling who bowed deeply at the waist.  
"My lord, there is an Autumn Court denizen who wishes to speak with you. She claims urgency."  
Helion straightened, his bones locking.  
Autumn court.  
Beron.  
A growl threatened to break from his throat but he held it back and his face grew cold, his mouth turning up into a cruel smirk, his eyes growing calculating and jaded.  
"Send them in, then."  
Now he could smell her.  
The smell of the fresh autumn air, of a crackling fireplace, of pine trees and apples, and the swift, cold mornings that froze and warned of coming winter.  
That scent drowned out any other, and by the time she stepped through the threshold of the room, past those Goliath doors, his heart had calmed from years of practice controlling it.  
He was the second oldest high lord and he would not be made a fool.  
"Greetings, Lady of Autumn. I am much obliged."  
There was no heart, no feeling in his words.  
Nothing but ice.  
And yet the brilliant red of her hair pinned up hair, which was now dull and weak set his heart ablaze.  
The alabaster of her skin which had grown sallow and sickly made him want to roar.  
The curve of her body beneath a velvet gown of emerald green, now thin and breakable. So fragile.  
It broke him soundly.  
But it was no different now than any other day in which he met with Beron and his dearest wife.  
She curtsied deeply to him, lowering her head.  
"Lord Helion."  
Helion's face was schooled.  
"Arabella. And where is your master hiding, my lady?" he was all smugness and impropriety.  
She stood, still near the doors, a thin stalk of dark grass blatant against the bright gold.  
Though she was dressed as a proud lady, her hair wound up properly, bell sleeves sweeping and draping down her sides, heavy skirts pooling in a small train, a belt of hammered copper disks at her waist, her amber eyes remained down and subservient, shifting nervously.  
"I..."  
"I have come alone, Lord Helion."  
Her voice was small and meek.  
Her mouth, her pretty lips... they hadn't smiled in a long time.  
Helion almost didn't know what to say.  
She had not been here alone in centuries.  
Nigh on half a millennium.  
He licked his lips.  
"Then what message has dear Beron sent you with, Arabella?"  
Aloof.  
Disinterested.  
Unimpressed.  
Disrespectful.  
He had to be all these things, had to remember, had to force himself to remain the Lord of Day with a heart of stone and ice and cold things.  
It all left his head when her small voice said,  
"My lord Beron did not send me, Lord Helion."  
Her small hands clenched at her sides, twists of rich fabric clenched between white knuckles.  
"I came to... I came to tell you that my husband is.... has passed."  
The sound of rushing water filled Helion's ears.  
My husband has passed.  
Helion's facade crumbled.  
He sat back heavily in his chair, eyes not leaving Arabella's tense figure.  
His right hand rubbed at that arm band, but it did nothing to calm the raging winds in his mind.  
"Beron is dead?" He breathed.  
Arabella's eyes remained down cast, but a small shudder wracked her thin shoulders.  
Helion was on his feet in a moment, and they took him to her side.  
There was a startled look in her russet eyes as he gently reached behind her to shut the doors.  
Helion had to fight the urge to pull her into his arms, to take her hands in his.  
"How," he asked quietly.  
Quietly, but with fire and venom there in his voice.  
Quietly, because if he was not quiet he would roar from the mountains that his vengeance had been taken from him so cruelly.  
Arabella's face crumpled and her lip quivered, eyes growing bright with silver.  
She cleared her throat.  
"My... my eldest. He... I have been traveling to all the courts to bear the news that Eris is High Lord of Autumn now."  
Her voice was painfully soft.  
So Eris had killed Beron for the throne.  
Helion sighed and raked his fingers through his hair.  
He murmured, mostly to himself,  
"I expected it, but I never thought he'd actually do it..."  
When Helion met Arabella's eyes again, he saw her tremble, saw those tears spill over and trail down the too sharp lines of her face.  
This time, he refused to resist pulling her close, and wrapped her small body in his arms, pulling her against him tightly enough he was worried she might break.  
But she sank against him and wept quietly in his bare chest, white hand gripping his vest.  
His hand cupped the back of her neck and he held her there, letting himself remember those nights all those centuries ago when she had been his, when they had loved each other so thoroughly despite her pairing to that sadist. Let himself breathe in that familiar, lovely scent of apples and bonfires.  
He knew that the tears she shed now were not of mourning for Beron.  
He knew they were tears of relief, of helplessness, of fear at what would come next.  
So he stroked her pinned up hair and savored the feeling of her, and let his rage at Beron that had grown throughout the years bleed away until Arabella was all that existed and mattered.  
When her trembling calmed and her hands laid flat against his chest, Helion pulled gently away, cupping her face in his hands.  
Her skin was cold, but he remembered a time when the fire in her veins burst forth and warmed her more than the sun could ever warm him.  
"Arabella-"  
She recoiled and pulled away into herself once more.  
"Forgive me, Lord Helion. I know not what came over me."  
Helion's brow furrowed and he raised his chin.  
"Never apologize to me, Arabella. You never did before."  
Again, he reached for her and rather than pull away, she lowered her head again.  
"These are different times, my lord," she whispered.  
Helion gently pressed up with his fingertips beneath her chin.  
"Look at me, my lady."  
Slowly, her eyes rose to meet his.  
He had meant to say something to her, but the rushing pain of emotion filled his chest again, sparking through his body.  
Arabella must have felt something similar, for when he rushed to kiss her she met him with the same passion.  
Her thin fingers dug into his shoulders with the same bruising force that he held her with.  
He pressed his body against hers, an arm wrapped about her waist, bent over kissing her with fire and passion and the repressed love that now exploded throughout them both.  
It took no more than thirty seconds before she gasped and yanked herself away, but Helion followed and placed gentle, quick kisses against her lips, her cheeks, her forehead, her nose, and every other place he could find.  
When he buried his face into the crook of her shoulder, her hands raised again to his back, lying flat and cool against his skin.  
"Lord Helion..."  
He growled softly at the formality.  
But he refused to pull away.  
Not when her hands still touched him so fondly, not when her pulse beat so quickly beneath her skin which had begun to warm.  
His left hand still grasped her waist, wrapped tightly about it, while his right hand wandered up to the her bound hair, to the cold copper and emerald combs that held her fiery hair in its clasps.  
Helion felt Arabella's breath catch and her hand flew up to stop his finger from removing those combs.  
"My lo- Helion, wait."  
A purr raised in his chest that she had forgone titles at last.  
He smiled against her skin.  
"I like your hair better down, lovely Arabella."  
She flinched against him and he slowly pulled away, fingers dropping from her hair.  
Her eyes were lined with tears again, but this time it was dear and discomfort on her face.  
Helion's heart clenched.  
He asked her quietly.  
"Why do you wear it up? You never did before."  
But he knew the answer before she said it.  
"Beron... after everything he wanted me to be proper. To look... to be reserved. It is- improper to wear my hair down as a woman of my former status."  
Helion let his sadness display upon his face as a garment, and smiled gently.  
This time Arabella did not stop him from reaching up to pluck each comb from her heavy hair.  
The whole length of it tumbled down her back, dull compared to its former splendor, but still beautiful.  
A flash of red flame framing her face and draping across her like the richest of clothing.  
"Stunning," he murmured.  
Red stained her cheeks, but her eyes remained on his.  
He contemplated whether he should kiss her again, but simply extended a hand in offering.  
"Will you sit?"  
For the first time, a small, sad smile lifted her lips and she nodded, taking his hand and sitting in the offered seat.  
It was an effort for Helion to move, to remind himself not to stare at her in wonder for the rest of eternity.  
There were so many things he wished to tell her, to ask her, to confide in her.  
But she was so fragile.  
Beron, had MADE her fragile.  
The only thing Helion would have wished different about that male's death was that it had been at his hands, slow and painful.  
But Eris has surely not spared his father any discomfort.  
And that eased Helion's rage.  
So he sat beside Arabella, turned towards her, leaning forward in an attentive, unlordlike manner.  
Her hands remained in his.  
"Tell me everything."  
So she told him all since the end of the war with Hybern.  
They had arrived back in Autumn with a greatly reduced people and a trashed court, and Eris had begun turning the already discontented peoples against Beron.  
It had taken only months before Eris slaughtered Beron in his sleep.  
The eldest son had taken care to keep his mother far away from the carnage.  
They'd found Barron in the morning, his throat laid open among dozens of other gaping wounds.  
Eris had unsurprisingly ascended during the night.  
And now here they were.  
The widow of one high lord and mother to the new one, come back to her former lover, now the oldest High Lord of Prythian.  
Helion listened intently, fingers locked together with hers and elbows on his knees.  
When Arabella finished speaking, silence grew between the two of them.  
Much had changed.  
Much would never be the same, and much was to be determined in this moment.  
There were many hateful things that bubbled up in Helion's throat to say about Beron.  
But there was uncertainty, instability, fragility in Arabella's beautiful amber eyes that stopped him.  
She'd had enough violence, enough abuse, enough talk and feel of pain for an immortal lifetime.  
So instead he asked her.  
"And you, my lady? What of you?"  
Her eyes guttered like a flame wondering whether or not to spark.  
"I am to mourn my late husband and assist my son in his duties. Beyond that..."  
She trailed off, and Helion gripped her hands tighter.  
Her eyes penetrated his soul so deeply he felt he would break.  
Despite it all, they were still warm with a mother's love, still fiery with the passion of the young noble's daughter with a powerful flame, still fierce like the lioness that had shared his bed and his heart all those years ago.  
But Helion shook his head.  
"Arabella, I don't give a damn what Prythian expects from the Lady of Autumn."  
Surprise flirted across her face at the assertiveness in his voice, but she said nothing.  
"What do you want, Ari?"  
Her mouth opened and Helion could hardly keep from kissing her again.  
And then she gave a small little laugh.  
His chest caved at the breathy sound.  
"Helion, no one has asked me that in five hundred years."  
Five hundred years ago she had visited him for the last time.  
And had never returned.  
Five hundred years ago he had asked her if she wanted to run away with him, even though the both of them knew it was impossible.  
It hurt him to hear her say that.  
His voice was thick and the words came with great difficulty.  
"I'm so sorry, Arabella. I'm so sorry."  
For the first time he heard a hard edge creep into her voice.  
"No, Helion. Don't."  
Helion opened his mouth again but shut it as she shook her head.  
"I... you can't blame yourself."  
But he did.  
Oh how he blamed himself and tore himself to pieces and whored himself to forget his failures and what they had cost her.  
She pulled her hands out of his, and he couldn't stop himself from reaching towards her, if only a little.  
A quiet whimper left her throat at that, but she stood anyway.  
Helion watched her, and then got to his feet as well.  
Their bodies were so close he could feel the whisper of her velvet gown on his skin.  
But Arabella pulled away and began to walk slowly towards the door before she stopped.  
"I must go."  
Helion's heart sank and he reached out for her, taking her hand in his once more.  
"Stay."  
She shook her head but before she could speak he brought her hand to his chest, just over his heart.  
"Please, Arabella. Stay."  
Her face grew sad.  
"Helion, I can't. Eris-"  
"Eris is high lord for a reason, Ari. He doesn't need your help. Not yet."  
A tear fell down her face.  
"I can't let him become his father."  
Helion gently pulled her closer, away from the door.  
"Eris is not Beron, Arabella. You know that better than all of us."  
The pain in her face was tangible.  
Helion wondered with a flare of rage if there were still fading bruises on her body from Beron's hand.  
"From what I've heard, Beron was not always as we knew him to be."  
Helion snorted.  
Beron may not have always been a sadistic bastard, but he'd always been a sniveling, conniving rat.  
He told her as much.  
Arabella sighed.  
"Eris was always the best of them."  
Her voice broke and tears welled once more.  
Helion wondered once more how long it had been since she'd been able to freely weep.  
"I loved him despite his father... and I got my way with him in the early years. Taught him up in the right ways but his brothers... my boys..."  
She covered her face with her free hand and cleared her throat weakly.  
"Beron saw weakness and kindness in Eris and knew that the others couldn't be the same. He... took them from my breast and-"  
Arabella let out a shuddering breath.  
Helion finished for her.  
"He turned your sons into monsters."  
She sobbed and buried her face into his chest, and they were again in this embrace where she hid in his arms from the world that had hurt her so deeply.  
"Eris has led the world to believe him to be cruel and sadistic like his father but... he's the best of them," she said, stumbling over the words, struggling to remain composed.  
"Of Beron's sons, he is the best of them."  
Helion stroked her hair gently.  
"And that is why he will be alright without you. At least for a time."  
He pulled away this time, holding onto her too thin shoulders.  
"Stay, Arabella. Stay because I need you here."  
He paused.  
"Stay because you need it."  
And then she was kissing him again, and he lost all control.  
His hands went to the neck of her dress, pushing down at the shoulders, slipping his hands beneath the rich fabric that so shamefully hid her body.  
She hungrily worked her lips over his, tasting him for the first time in five hundred years, tearing at his loose vest and throwing it on the ground.  
His skin glowed and grew molten.  
Before he could finish pushing the loose cut dress off of her shoulders, his impatience had him unclasping the copper belt and dropping it to the stone floor with a loud clatter that neither of them paid any mind to.  
His hands wandered over her, slipping beneath her dress at her shoulders once more and pushing down as he felt her skin, savored it, wanted it.  
Her breathing hitched when his lips and tongue trailed down the column of her throat and back up to nip at her earlobe.  
Helion discovered that Arabella still made that sound that drove him wild when his teeth grazed across the tender skin beneath her jaw.  
And as he scented her arousal, he felt himself grow harder.  
When her velvet dress at last pooled at her feet, Helion pulled back to look at her.  
Before he could, Arabella's hands left his body and covered her own.  
What he beheld there broke his heart.  
Here was a female whom he loved, who he would forever have a deep desire for.  
And yet her body was thin and waifish from the years of malnourishment in Autumn, and she hid herself from him.  
"Arabella," he growled, angry at Beron, body still coursing with desire as he reached for her arms to lower them.  
His lips captured hers once more, and she returned his passion with a new sense of hesitation.  
Helion's fingers slid down her bare body to her core.  
He worked the wetness there against her swollen bud, and she let out a strangled moan, writhing against him, hips rolling into his hand.  
And her inhibitions were seemingly gone, her forehead pressed against his shoulder, letting out whimpering moans, clutching and clawing at his back.  
A flash of pleasure rolled down Helion's spine and into his belly, and he grew painfully hard.  
A groan left his own lips at the noises Arabella released from his ministrations.  
She breathed his name desperately.  
"Helion..."  
He could've finished just from that.  
But then she said it again, and along side his name was the pushing against his chest with her hands.  
Away from her.  
"Helion... I..."  
She was breathing heavily, her hair in disarray, her pupils blown.  
But there was shame, too.  
She hid her body once more and quickly bent to pick up her gown.  
"I'm sorry."  
She wasn't ready. Wasn't comfortable.  
He understood.  
He respected it.  
As much as his own... predicament pained him.  
He saw her eyes flick down to the quite obvious problem and guilt filled her eyes, as well as a blush on her cheeks.  
They were both breathing heavily and the scent of them filled the room thickly, like oil.  
Helion only cocked a short smile and chuckled.  
"I'll be fine."  
He desperately hid his disappointment.  
"Let me show you to your chambers, my lady."  
Arabella's lips lifted if only a little, and she quickly dressed once more.  
At her behest and his great complaint, he turned his back while she did so.  
When they opened the golden doors, she left without so much as looking to retrieve those copper combs.


	2. The Old Friend

Arabella could feel their eyes on her, watching, calculating, waiting for the lady of Autumn to do something blasphemous and terrible.

Five hundred years ago, she would have held her chin high, stared them down, and walked straight as a pillar with the grace and strength of a queen. 

Now she fought to look straight ahead instead of down. 

She was still a lady and she would not be down trodden anymore. 

None of them were old enough to remember her. 

To recognize the female who had walked the same halls with a bright smile and a teasing laugh.

The one who had shared a bed with their most beloved High Lord. 

She walked beside Helion timidly beneath their gazes.

Walked closer to him when they began to whisper about Beron and her sons, about Eris. 

A pretty female with a golden arm sat discussing matters with a handful of officials, and stared balefully at Arabella until she passed. 

The tightness in her chest grew and grew, and she could feel Helion glancing at her with increasing concern.

She refused to look at him.

She wanted to, but if she did she might lose her composure completely.

She had already done that enough for one day.

The tension eased at last when they turned a corner and stopped in front of a tall mahogany door, with the same inlaid face as the great golden doors of what she assumed was Helion's war room.

But for some reason, her fingers tingled and the back of her mind whispered that this place was familiar. 

When Helion glanced at her, placing a hand on the door, Arabella finally looked back.

Holy Mother he was beautiful.

That dark, bronzed tawny color of his skin that glowed when he looked at her.

He hadnt done that since she'd left him. 

So she had forgotten how magnificent it was to feel like the sun began to shine because of her. 

His bright, piercing golden eyes that slanted up like a wild cat's and drove deep inside her, as if her masks were a spell and she could not hide what was beneath them from the great Spellcleaver.

His wavy, jaw length black hair was exactly the same.

For all his wildness, some things about Helion would never change.

Arabella wanted nothing more than to run her fingers through his hair.

Her trance broke when he gave her a crooked smile that made her knees weak, and pushed the door open, revealing a grand chamber for royalty. 

She glanced inside and looked to Helion, who gestures for her to go in. 

Feeling unsure and insecure without him by her side, she sidled in and fought the gasp that rose in her throat. 

She would take in the magnificent room later.

Turning to face him, expecting him to follow, she was surprised when he simply remained holding the door open. 

Her eyes must have held the question, because he smiled so genuinely something deep within her cracked and her stomach filled with fluttering moths.

His rolling, deep voice made her toes curl and her skin feel constricting.

"I am beyond ecstatic that you've decided to stay, my lady. But you must be tired. I have a bath heated for you and there are clothes in the closet. Please, rest. "

The gentle worry I'm his eyes made her flush with guilt and shame, but it only served to remind her that he was the most perfect male she had ever met.

That was why she had come here immediately after Beron's untimely demise. 

She could read in Helion's eyes, though what he meant.

Wash Autumn from your skin. Abandon their clothing. Be rid of Beron's stain.

So Arabella nodded and smiled faintly.

"Thank you, Helion."

He grinned at her, and for a moment she was in another time, when things had been simple. 

Before even Beron.

Those bright eyes were full of mischief and he winked at her, before turning away and letting the door close.

He caught it quickly.

"Supper is in two hours, in the main hall,"

He said.

She could've sworn there was hope and uncertainty in his voice.

"Will you join me?"

Arabella wanted to take his hand in hers and kiss his palm, all the way up his arm to his ear and whisper her answer.

Instead, she smiled widely, cheeks aching at the foreign action.

"Of course, my lord."

Helion grinned again and nodded, at last letting the door shut.

The thump echoed throughout the room and in her bones.

Oh Mother, her bones.

Alone, Arabella released a breath.

What must he think of her, all pale skin and gangled limbs?

She had eaten only when she had to, for food came with the price of sitting at the dining table with Beron and his cronies.

So food had been scarce in a desire to avoid that.

But now...

She turned from the rich doors and every thought left her head at the room before her.

So familiar.

So warm.

So beautiful.

Gold and ivory walls with a sandstone floor that was lined and seamed with rivers of lapis lazuli

The ceiling was a glass dome with a map of the sky written in sunstone that glowed at night and was starkly red during the day.

The setting sun filtered warmly through the glass, not too hot and certainly no more intense than a lover's embrace.

Arabella's cheeks flushed at the thought.

Perhaps less intense than some lovers embraces.

Quickly she moved her mind to other aspects of the lovely room.

A massive four poster bed, of carved mahogany, lay in the center of the room. 

The headboard had a coiled cobra with a spread hood and feather wings spread out, crowned with a sun disc in the center, and two expertly carved scarab beetles on either side, also crowned with sun discs.

The sheets were of lapis blue silk, and the covers not much more than layered cream and gold linens, intricately detailed with pretty dyed threads and borders.

The pillows matched, and were plush as well as ornate to an extent that Arabella genuinely did not know whether or not they were to be slept on.

Two tall, thin doors carved similarly to everything else that was wood in this palace, marked a wardrobe.

She resisted immediately donning the otherwise scandalous clothing of the day court and instead turned into the bathing room.

A bath indeed.

She shook her head, eyes shining and began to undress, tossing aside her autumn court garb like a napkin.

Nearly the entire large room was filled with a pentagonal bathing pool, that glittered and shimmered and steamed. The tiles at the bottom were of blue and gold and silver glass. The edge was lined with the red, glowing sun stone inlaid (somehow) with small fae lights.

She stepped into the hot water, hissing in delight at the silky smooth water, and sank in.

Rose oils, her favorite, lined the edge of the pool, so she plucked a bottle up and poured a generous helping into the water.

The lovely scent filled her soul.

Smiles came far more easily to her now, though she had been here but two hours. 

This place has always been that for her.

A place to smile easily and let the world fall away.

Floating on her back, she observed that the wall of the pool on the outside was simple a glass dome, much like that on the ceiling of the bedchamber. 

She could swim out for a short way over nothing, as though flying a thousand leagues above the ground. 

Her heavy red hair was thick with water and scented oils.

Her skin began to warm tenderly, and even her skin began to take on a rosy tone of health.

She might have forgotten herself in that pool, but the prospect of supping with Helion made her heart leap and her veins buzz with anticipation, so she quickly washed and stepped out of the warm pool.

A mirror stood ornately before her.

In it she saw exactly how painfully thin she had grown, and understood the concern underlying each of Helion's looks.

Her shoulders sharply protruded, her arms thin a lacking of any muscle.

Her only curves lay in the shape of her hip bones, which also were too sharp and stuck out too far.

Her legs were thin, and she could count nearly every rib through her skin.

And her breasts...

She flushed in shame at sad state of them.

Small, barely there.

This was not the body that one would recognize as distinctly female. 

Nor male.

It was a sad unidentifiable thing that she had not cared about for years until this very moment.

Perhaps there had been a desire to deprive Beron of the supple body she had once had. 

Perhaps emaciating herself was her last rebellion after...

She shook her head.

Helion would never look at her the same if she took him to bed looking like this.

If she even could.

Her body very clearly wanted him. 

Her heart longed for him.

She wondered if she would know it was him inside her, his hands touching her.

She wondered if it would feel like Beron.

Arabella shuddered violently at the thought, and glanced down at a fading bruise on her waist.

Shaped like fingerprints.

The last remnants of Beron were on her body. 

He'd made sure they would stay for as long as any mortal wound when he'd put them there. 

No, Helion couldn't see her like this. 

Not yet.

The ache in her belly and between her legs grew stronger, as if in complaint.

Arabella simply turned away from the mirror and pulled a towel off of the wall to wrap around herself before walking back to the bedchamber.

There were many things to discuss with the High Lord of Day before taking him to bed. 

It would be selfish to think only of her own desires. 

She had already been selfish enough.

She padded across the warm, smooth sandstone and opened the wardrobe.

Inside were two sides, separated by a wooden panel. 

Her knees went weak when she realized that one side held female clothes while the other held larger and distinctly male clothes.

Clothes that were layered and coated with his scent.

This was his bedchamber. 

A bedchamber that was prepared to accommodate a female.

Arabella knew of Helion's habits, but it still made her chest cave a bit.

She scoffed and pulled out articles of thin clothing.

She'd been married for the past 700 years. She'd borne children.

There was absolutely no right to be envious or angry at Helion or those he had shared his bed with.

She glanced at her hands and smiled.

In them sat a female's blue shendyt and little more than blue linen breast wrappings that, once on her body along with the skirt, exposed a thin line of skin at her waist. 

This has always been her favored garment when she had come here in the past. 

Lapis blue looked as good on her as emerald green, which was damn good, because she wouldn't be dressing in the colors of autumn court for a long while.

Remembering her exposed shoulders, she rifled through the closet and found a fine, gold thread macrame shawl that she draped over her arms and knotted at her navel.

The thin strands of gold trailed down to mid thigh like shimmering spider silk.

She looked at herself in the mirror in the wardrobe.

Her critical eye judged the sharp lines of her body, but the day court style favored her well, even now.

From what she judged, supper was still at least an hour away.

With a sigh, Arabella turned away from the wardrobe and sat on the edge of the bed.

Oh great Mother.

Helion's bed. 

Before she could react to that fact, she jolted at a soft knock at the door. 

Standing swiftly, she cleared her throat.

An anxious feeling made her fingers twitch.

"Come in."

The door pushed open.

She expected the tall, muscular form of Helion.

Instead, a pretty female with short cropped black hair and skin the color of dark honey walked in.

Her eyes were lined with kohl and she wore the white sister to what Arabella had chosen to where.

Silver arm bands adorned her biceps.

But Arabella didn't pay much heed to what she was wearing.

Her mouth fell open in shock, and she and the other female flew towards each other, nearly knocking each other back with the force at which they embraced.

Tears threatened to spill over once more as Arabella hugged her old friend tightly. 

They rocked back and in each other's arms until they finally tore themselves apart.

The loss of warmth surprised Arabella.

"Ahmes?"

She breathed quietly, as if speaking too loudly would shatter this lovely dream world she was in.

Ahmes grinned at her, her own eyes lined with silver.

"It's been far too long, Ari."

Arabella laughed, and the joy she felt deep in her belly flowed out of her amber eyes.

"Half a millennium and you still wear your makeup like that, dear friend? I don't know how you do it everyday."

Ahmes giggled, and Arabella felt like a young girl again. They sat on the bed together, speaking of good things and their lives in the years they'd been apart.

Arabella didn't speak much.

There had not been many happy things in her years apart from Ahmes, and this was not a time to be sullied by unhappy things.

So she listened intently and with great delight.

Ahmes had married, and now was mother to a beautiful young female who was soon celebrating her 100th birthday. 

Arabella admired the ruby ring on her friend's finger.

She and her husband, another old friend of Arabella's, had married soon after the signing of the Treaty and the raising of the Wall.

"After we married, Helion made Rawer his Master of Coin. We've been living in the palace ever since. In the west wing with the other counselors and chieftains."

Her deep brown eyes glittered.

Arabella shook her head.

Her cheeks aches from smiling for so long.

"That's wonderful, Ahmes. I..."

She clasped her hands onto her friend's.

"I'm so happy for you. Truly."

Sadness and, heaven forbid, pity, guttered in Ahmes' eyes for a moment before fading, and suddenly the female sat up.

"I'm going to get you ready for your supper with our good High Lord."

Arabella opened her mouth to protest, but remembered her friend's stubbornness and said nothing.

So she let Ahmes brush her hair until it shone like tongues of flame in the dying light, let her line her amber eyes with kohl that curled down onto her cheeks.

Let her select gold jewelry and a golden belt to lay at her hips.

A gold collar inlaid with gems, a circlet with a cobra's hood in the place of a gem, arm rings that were the sleek, feminine partner to Helion's.

Much to Arabella's chagrin, Ahmes refused to allow her to don a pair of slippers or sandals.

"Only outsiders and ill favored guests wear shoes in the palace," she insisted, so Arabella had finally let it be.

The only thing on her feet was a thin gold anklet with hieroglyph charms. 

After a while, they settled back onto the bed and Ahmes gently continued to brush Arabella's thick hair.

"I missed you dearly, Ari."

Arabella smiled.

"And I you. I'm glad we're together again."

Ahmes snorted.

"Helion won't be. We'll be wreaking havoc and chaos on his court in no time. And, I will always steal you away from him."

Arabella blushed.

She could hear the suggestive twinkle in her friend's eye.

"I don't know if-" she began, but was interrupted by the door opening.

This time, it was Helion.

Seeing his full form, strong and powerful and the leash on his power loosened made her glad she was not standing.

His eyes went to her, then to the female behind her.

"Hello Ahmes," he smiled.

Arabella felt the bed shift and then Ahmes was on her feet, bowing.

"Lord Helion."

She walked towards the door, inclining her head to her high lord, and winked back at Arabella when she left, closing the door behind her.

Helion stood by the doors still, eyes fixed on Arabella and a way that made her face heat and her blood stir.

She hasn't touched the power of her flame in centuries, but she could feel it now rising up within her.

Before she could make to stand, Helion stalked towards he and knelt in front of her.

Seeing his face looking up at her from near her knees made her body heat.

His hands pressed down on the bedding on either side of her legs.

"You look stunning, Ari."

His eyes met hers beneath a hooded brow.

She uttered a breathless thank you, and then a gasp when she felt his hands slip under her knees as gently pull her towards the edge of the bed.

The scent of her arousal was no secret, and judging from the flare of Helion's nostrils, he could smell it just fine.

The gold of his eyes burned brighter, but he simply took on of her hands in his, brought it to his lips in a courtly kiss, and stood, helping her up as well.

Arabella's heart pounded and her breath was shallow. 

What was this male doing to her?

She'd resisted his charms for every meeting for five hundred years. Was she so desperate for him that at the first chance she had, her body welcomed him with proclaimed lust and wanton desire?

Helion's intense gaze melted into a cocky, mischievous, nigh on boyish smirk, as though he understood every one of her thoughts.

Still holding her hand in his, he said

"Shall we dine, my lady?"

Still flushed and flustered, Arabella merely nodded and walked with him as though he were escorting her to a fine event. 

The thought made her heart drop into her stomach.

Beron's meals had always been tables full of emissaries and conniving lords and advisors.

She didn't know if she would be able to handle tables full of Helion's confidantes, even if they were good people.

Nausea gripped her, and the blood drained from her face, but she continued to keep pace beside Helion.

He must've sensed the change in her mood.

She could feel the concern pouring off of him in waves, but he said nothing.

When they stepped into the threshold of the great hall, to Arabella's great surprise and relief... no one was there.

Save but one male servant wearing a more practical and task friendly set of garments than Helion, but similar enough.

A short table sat in the middle of the great hall, and a bouquet of jasmine and lotus flowers sat in the center. 

Fae lights floated throughout the hall which was built similarly to Helion's bedchamber with the lapis lined floors and the ivory walls.

But they were alone.

It was the most intimate, lovely and considerate thing that had been done for her in a very long time.

When she looked up at Helion, wonder written on her face, gone was the mischief, replaced by a gentle smile.

He had been looking at her with those eyes, those admiring eyes, for a long while before she finally saw it.

And her heart soared when he did not hide it from her, unabashedly displaying his affection.

"It... this is beautiful, Helion."

He grinned at her, all mischief once more, and stepped forward to pull out her seat.

She returned his smile and sat before her place setting of goblets of precious metals and fine diningwear.

Her heart fluttered nervously, excitedly, as he took his own seat across from her and silence filled the space between them. 

Arabella's hands fidgeted in her lap, picking at her nails and loose threads in her sheer golden wrap.

The silence brought many unpleasant things to the forefront of her mind.

All the things she must tell him.

All of the duties she was shirking by being here.

But when he spoke, it all melted away.

"I apologize for my absence today. I thought you might want to be alone, so I attended to my tasks. Perhaps it was... uncouth of me as a host to do so."

There was genuine regret in Helion's golden eyes.

And she knew his apology and his guilt ran far deeper than playing host.

Still, she smiled gently and reached across the table, taking his hand.

"You did nothing wrong. I enjoyed the time I had to refamiliarize myself with your court."

Helion raised an eyebrow.

Arabella shrugged slightly.

"With a room in your court?"

She sighed.

"Be patient with me, Helion. It's been a long while."

A door behind them opened and the wafting smell of stew meats and roasted vegetables filled the air.

Helion paid it no heed.

He simply brushed the back of her hand with his thumb.

"Always, Ari."

When their plates were set in front of them, they broke apart.

Arabella glanced up at the server and smiled gently.

She couldn't remember the last time it had been appropriate for her to thank a servant, but it felt right as she did so.

He inclined his head.

After he poured dark, sweet wine into their goblets and made to leave, Helion murmured,

"Thank you, Setka."

Setka bowed deeply to his high lord, and then returned to the door to the kitchens.

Helion smiled apologetically to her.

"My court is much younger now than you remember. They'll learn. You'll remind them."

Arabella smiled.

"I'm alright with being unrecognized for a while."

Holy mother if he kept looking at her with those bright eyes...

She cleared her throat and raised her eyebrows at his food.

And then it all began to settle into a centuries old rhythm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Day Court- Classical and Medieval Egypt  
> *Night Court- Classical Mediterranean   
> *Dawn Court- Classical India   
> *Spring Court- Classical and Medieval Saxon and Gaelic regions  
> *Summer Court- Classical and post-classical Caribbean Region (I have very little knowledge about this region and it's history)  
> *Autumn Court- Classical and Medieval Scandinavia  
> *Winter Court- Classical and Medieval Northern Slavia 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't usually write fanfiction, and this is in no way my best work. I have my own views on the characters in SJM books and will try my best to keep them canonical in personality.


	3. The Compromise

At ease, the both of them spoke of unimportant things, flirted, shared coy glances, and laughed. 

The food was fantastic, filled with spices and fragrant herbs, but it was nothing compared to the absolute joy of being with Helion again.

Hearing his roaring laughter, listening to the deep rumble of his voice, watching as his hold on his power loosened and his skin shone like the sun in the midst of night. 

But mostly they remembered. 

Reminisced on the times they shared half a millennium ago.

By the time they couldn't avoid darker topics, the food was gone, both of their plates cleared, and multiple glasses of wine drunk up.

Mother, she wanted to tell him everything.

But even the wine couldn't loosen her tongue on some things that needed to wait for another time. 

"Beron found out, you know.That I'd been off with another man."

She could feel the venom pouring off of Helion at the mention of Beron's name.

The liquor had loosened his inhibitions, clearly, as the fork he'd been holding crumpled in his fingers.

"What did he do,"

He breathed.

Arabella almost snorted, but restrained herself. 

If she let the wine take her too far away she might never come back.

So instead she shrugged, and couldn't keep her shoulders from curving inward a bit at the memory.

"He made sure I knew I was his.In more ways than one."

A soft snarl escaped Helion.

"So why did he never come here? Why did he never challenge me? I would have killed him then, gladly."

A tremor wracked Arabella's spine.

She had known for all this time that Helion would've done anything for her.

That was why she'd never returned.

"He never knew it was you, Helion," she murmured. 

There was genuine surprise in his golden eyes, genuine surprise that ripples across the table, interrupting waves of ire and disdain for her late husband.

"I never told him.After a few decades he lost interest in trying to find out.Had me under lock and key, so it didn't matter anymore."

She could almost feel the questions that he wanted to ask her, demand answers for.

Questions that he was afraid to ask.

Questions that she didn't know if she could answer for him yet.

Helion's hands were clenched into fists, shaking.

Arabella reaches out and placed her hand on his.

He stopped trembling, and met her eyes.

"I..."

He trailed off.

Neither of them really knew what to say. 

There was so much, but both of them knew that now was not the right time.

She watched as he took a deep breath and sighed heavily.

Profound weariness and sadness lay in his beautiful face.

She wondered if she looked the same.

Rather than address it, Helion simply cleared his throat.

"Shall we retire, my lady?"

He stood and held out a hand to her.

And suddenly her grief was swept away by a charming smile.

As they walked arm in arm back, the growing realization that it was his bedchamber brought forth many reactions.

First and foremost, tingles of pleasure that shot down between her legs and up her spine, making the scent of her arousal quite evident.

Arabella refused to look at Helion, and her face grew hot.

But there was also dread and shame in her belly.

She couldn't let Helion touch her, take her when she was hardly a woman anymore.

She knew that Helion could scent her arousal on her. 

She could smell it on him.

But she was terrified that he would sense her reticence and take it for lack of interest.

From the glow of his skin and the overwhelming scent of him, Arabella doubted he could tell.

They stopped before the doors of the bedchamber.

His bedchamber.

And Helion released her arm and turned to face her.

"Ari,"

She at last looked up into his eyes.

In them burned a want that spurred her own desire tenfold.

"I confess, I was selfish," he said, his voice low and sultry.

"These... are my chambers.I recognize it was rash.There are others nearby made up-"

Arabella stopped him.

Despite herself, she smiled a bit.

"I know, Helion."

His eyebrows rose.

And again despite herself, she leaned up, hands on his chest, whispering in his ear,

"Your clothes are still in the wardrobe."

Her breath caught for a moment.

"I could smell you on them."

Helion's heartbeat quickened considerably under her hands, and let out a low growl.

Dropping back down onto her heels, Arabella watched his face intently.

His lip twitched up, and he seemed to almost grimace.

"Im trying to restrain myself, Ari." He almost groaned.

The ache between her legs grew stronger and she could feel the slick there.

It made her want to tell him to unleash himself instead.

But she stepped back, slowly, and her hands slipped off of his chest.

"I know.I... I'm sorry, Helion.I shouldn't have."

The disappointment in his eyes was tangible, but he smiled at her gently.

His broad hand cupped the side of her face, and she leaned into it.

"Never apologize to me."

So gentle. So kind.So perfect.

To love her after all these years, after she'd been sullied so thoroughly. 

But if he wanted it, she wanted it. 

"The chambers beside mine are empty for guests."

He extended a hand to lead her to them, but she paused, staring back and forth between his hand and his inquiring eyes.

"Helion...."

His brow furrowed.

"Helion I... I may not be ready to... be with you but,"

She sighed in frustration at her poor grasp on the words.

"I don't want to sleep alone."

What would've otherwise bloomed on Helion's face as a sensuous smile became something sweet and tender. 

He didn't ask any questions.

Simply pushed the doors open and left the way open for her to enter.

Arabella gave him a grateful look and walked in.

He truly was an incredible male. 

She would have understood if he had asked her to sleep in another room.

She could still smell his desire, knew that it was a struggle for him and that it hurt just as badly as it hurt her to resist.

Arabella stood in the middle of the room for a while, and Helion let her be, preparing himself for sleep.

She couldn't help when her eyes followed his undressing.

Perhaps she had overestimated her self control.

Especially when she considered her convenient forgetfulness at the fact that Helion slept naked.

Arabella was in no way afraid of the naked body.

Especially one so fine as Helion's.

But she didn't know if she could resist, even with her insecurities, if she lay beside him at night.

If his arms held her close and she could feel...

She shook her head and grew red in the face when Helion met her eyes and gave her a cocky grin.

His eyes flared and she turned away. 

Holy mother she'd forgotten how big he was.

Desperately, she shook her head, fumbled in the wardrobe for a thin silk robe, and walked quickly to the bathing room (which mercifully did, in fact, have a door of sorts).

The image of him was still burned in her mind. 

And it was not helping her remember to hold off.

Her face and neck and chest were all flushed like the canaries in Autumn.

Absolutely mortifying.

Even more so was when Arabella stripped and donned the robe, and realized how utterly short it was.

With no undergarments.

Considering it was Helion, she was lucky the robe hadn't been completely sheer.

In the mirror, she examined herself, robe tied loosely, hair cascading down her shoulders and back like some waterfall of rubies and flame, eyes still lined with that kohl that brought out the copper and amber tones.

The jewelry was long gone, in a neat pile on the table beside the wardrobe.

With a sigh, Arabella began to scrub the makeup off of her face.

When she was fresh and clear of any cosmetic, she again looked in the mirror.

The glow from her skin was still there.

And she realized that now that she had escaped, that Beron was dead and she could be here, with Helion, that glow would never again fade.

She smiled and walked back into the bedchamber.

Helion lay back, eyes closed, sheets only covering him up to his low hips.

Her breath hitched.

Somehow I'm seeing him like this was even more alluring than seeing him completely naked. 

The silk sheets dipped so low that she wanted to hook her finger beneath them and slip them down just an inch...

Arabella closed her eyes and cleared her head.

This was ridiculous.

She was nearly a thousand years old and still falling to her urges like a youngling.

She padded carefully to the other side of the bed and crawled in beside Helion.

For such a large room and such an extravagant male, the bed now seemed incredibly small. 

The heat from his muscular body radiated towards her, almost like warm hands that caressed her body, up and down.

Helion's eyes remained closed, his hands still behind his head, his torso stretched out and open to ogling.

A shiver ran down her body.

He was so painfully close to her.

Staring at him would do absolutely nothing to distance her mind from sex, so instead she rolled over on her side, her back facing him.

The presence of him there was almost as gruelingly desirable.

And almost immediately, his broad arm draped across her waist and pulled her close to him, against his body, that heat spreading through her deliciously.

She could feel him, hard against her back.

In more ways than one.

"Helion..."

He hummed contentedly in her ear and settled back down into the bed, his arm a heavy weight over her slight body.

She'd never felt safer, happier and more loved.

His breathing was even but she knew he was just as far from sleep as she.

So she spoke.

"I haven't shared my bed like this in many many years."

Helion tensed behind her.

He paused before...

"I assumed-"

"Most do.But Beron and I had separate chambers."

Helion was silent, either contemplating his words or waiting for her to go on.

"Most times, if he wanted me, he sent a servant to fetch me.When he was finished he sent me back."

She shuddered and Helion's arm tightened.

"Sometimes he came to my rooms.In the days after his death, I still woke, expecting him to be there, in some rage."

Arabella could only hope that this gave Helion some explanation for her refusal of his advances. 

Some explanation as to why she still wanted to sleep in his bed.

Helion held her painfully close, but she let the proximity, the protective hold, consume her.

Beron had been possessive. 

Controlling.

But never protective. 

For 700 years she had been guarding and protecting herself, not only from Beron's enemies and unsavory consorts, but Beron himself.

Helion was silent.

For a long while.

"I should've... I never knew what it was like," He said quietly.

There was rage simmering there.

And guilt.

"I knew what was happening but even my eyes couldn't find out what he did to you."

His spies.

Beron had always taken extreme precautions to feed false information and blind all informants to other courts.

Trust no one and survive.

Arabella leaned back into his chest.

"And what would you have done if they'd told you the horrible details?What could you have done, Lord Helion?"

He, the High Lord of Day, could have done absolutely nothing unless he wanted to bring the people's of Prythian to absolute war. 

He knew that very well.

It was why he had never come for her.

And yet he still punished himself.

"I could have stolen you away," he whispered, face buried in her hair, against the sensitive skin of her neck.

Even as a shiver traveled down her limbs, she brushed her hand over his arm.

"Don't be foolish, Helion," she said.Gently.Gratefully.Lovingly.

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder and rested his chin there.

"Perhaps we deserve to be foolish.After all this."

Arabella turned in his arms to face him, hands flat against his chest, face but an inch from his.

Her own kiss found its mark on his lips, chaste but lingering.

When she broke it, she looked into his eyes.

"Let the past remain in the past.It led us here.That's all that matters."

He seemed loathe to let it go, but he brushed his lips across her forehead and pulled her close.

"That's all that matters."

...

Helion watched as she fell asleep beside him, curled up against his body.

His beautiful, wonderful Arabella.

How he had wanted her tonight.

From the moment he had seen her, free of Beron's terrible grasp.

But some things were more important.

And though he ached to ravage her, to make love to her, having her sleep soundly and peacefully beside him, having her there, holding her again, was more than enough.

He would be there for her like he hadn't been able to before. 

And he would never let her be taken from him again.

Her deep, even breaths soothed his soul like a balm on a burn.

A thrill ran through his body.

Arabella was here.

The shock fully set in now.

The body beside him was the female he'd fallen in love with so thoroughly all those years ago, and who all those years ago he had resigned to never seeing again.

But here she was.

And when Helion finally closed his eyes, he fell asleep.

At peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Day Court- Classical and Medieval Egypt  
> *Night Court- Classical Mediterranean   
> *Dawn Court- Classical India   
> *Spring Court- Classical and Medieval Saxon and Gaelic regions  
> *Summer Court- Classical and post-classical Caribbean Region (I have very little knowledge about this region and it's history)  
> *Autumn Court- Classical and Medieval Scandinavia  
> *Winter Court- Classical and Medieval Northern Slavia 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't usually write fanfiction, and this is in no way my best work. I have my own views on the characters in SJM books and will try my best to keep them canonical in personality.


	4. The Bond

Lucien Vanserra slipped into his chambers in the House of Wind, shutting the door behind him.

Exhaustion deadened his limbs, and he fell back against the door, sliding down to the floor.

The effort to keep his eyes open was monumental.

But he was still wearing that blasted finery. And there was no way he would fall asleep on the marble floors.

Again.

So he heaved himself off of the floor, not bothering to smooth the fitted trousers and crumpled jacket, and yanked off his boots as he stumbled to the bathing room.

His red hair was tied away from his face with a leather thong, but he gave up on keeping it up and untied the strap.

Flame red hair fell just over his shoulders in a thin, straight curtain.

Shrugging off the restricting jacked, stripping off his shirt and trousers, he left them in a heap by the doorway and continued, naked, to the already hot bath.

Most likely courtesy of Nuala, who had taken up responsibility of caring for him in his stays at the House of Wind. 

There was so much pent up stress and tension in his body, and a tired ache that made him hiss against the hot water.

Steam rose and he let himself sink deeply into the wide, onyx tub.

Today alone he had been serving his duties as Night Court Emissary to Queen Vassa, to Spring Court, to Summer, and filling out paperwork while attempting diplomacy with every high strung lord of every damn court.

Except Autumn. 

That was the one court he refused, begged Rhysand not to send him to.

Rhysand had obliged.

But what really wore on Lucien, what dragged him down, what made his body ache and tire, was Elain.

His mate. 

Every time he came back to the star spangled Night Court he could smell her, feel her.

The bond was a constant weight, a pull. 

No matter where she was he could feel her.

And his body reacted so keenly.

Even now, letting himself relax, the scent of her invaded him and he felt himself grow hard.

A groan of frustration and desire passed his lips.

He was hard as a rock.

Damn the Night Court.

It wouldn't be so bad if he wasn't here.

At least, that's what he told himself.

Elain couldn't even look him in the eyes for longer than a short moment, let alone speak to him long enough to know whether or not she would like him.

Love him.

A growl erupted from his throat.

His mind was filled with wanton images of her, blushing and sweet and flushed with want.

His hand crept down and he gripped himself, groaning at the fiery pleasure sparking through him.

He'd been taking care of himself like this for a long time, but more and more since Elain.

He couldn't bear the thought of bedding a female besides her.

A strangled moan escaped him and the water sloshed as his hips bucked up into his hand.

Spikes of intense pleasure tingled up through his body, spurred on by his pumping hand on his cock and his thoughts of Elain.

Lucien threw his head back, desperately trying to stifle his groans and panting, uncaring that the edge of the tub dug painfully into his scalp.

In his mind, it was her fingers as she moaned and writhed around him.

The sensations became unbearable, his body locked up, his hips thrusting into his hand.

He gave an unbridled cry, instantly regretting his loudness, but the absolute explosion sparkling throughout him made see white, made him lose control.

His muscles locked, his seed spurting up onto his tanned, heaving chest.

His body involuntarily spasmed, hips moving of their own accord, until his muscles at last unclenched and he sagged, spent, into the warm water.

If he wasn't so damn horny all the time, Lucien might have the presence of mind to feel humiliated and ashamed.

But her scent was already driving him wild again.

Desperately he shoved it from his mind and snatched soaps from the side of the tub, scrubbing at his hair and body with them until his skin was raw and his hair gleamed.

And then promptly exited the cooling bath water as soon as possible.

Exhaustion leadening his limbs, Lucien slowly reached for a towel, not caring to dry his skin, and simply stood there, bracing one hand against the door of the open cabinet, the towel hanging limp and unused in his other hand. 

The cool air of the night court chilled his overheated body, but he still couldn't find the strength to move, to wrap the towel about his hips and find his bed, less than 20 feet away.

Against his better judgement, he found himself seeking her out. 

Not physically, but mentally pulling on the thread, searching for her scent, her voice.

It wasn't hard to find.

She was in her rooms, sweet smelling, overtaking him with the softness of her voice as she spoke to her shrewish older sister.

Elain.

Tightness coiled in his gut. 

Pain.Sadness.Longing.

And absolute desire for her that he had hoped to quench, but filled his body and addled his mind once more only moments after his last half relief.

A groan escaped his lips. 

One of frustration, if nothing else.

His hand tightened on the cabinet door, knuckles white.

Her voice buzzed in his ears, swirled about his head. 

Her scent invaded him.

He growled, muscles tense, and the cabinet door snapped under his hand. 

Lucien cursed, and ground his teeth, a frustrated cry escaping him like some kind of wounded animal.

Leaving the broken cabinet, he stormed into his bed chamber and threw his unused towel at the bed.

His hair was cold and wet on his shoulders, dripping freezing streams of water down his naked body, but the thought of rubbing his skin down, drying it, nearly undid him.

Agony and fire filled him.

She was so close, and out of reach in the most complete sense.

Lucien's breath came heavily now, in pants. 

His exhaustion had made way for an overwhelming combination of undeniable desire and detrimental anguish.

His chest heaved and his fists clenched, ready to strike something; anything.

Until he heard something near the door.

A sharp intake of breath.

And his narrowed senses broadened away from Elain.

Another female.

Whipping his head to the side, water droplets spraying, Lucien saw her standing there by the door, watching him, onyx eyes wide.

Nuala.

He cursed soundly and fumbled for his towel, which lay discarded a few feet away, hastily wrapping it around his hips.

"Nuala- I..."

He raked a hand through his wet hair.

Mortification had replaced every other crippling sensation from only moments ago. 

She ducked her head abashedly, her hair like silk and smoke pooling around her shoulders.

"I apologize my lord."

Her quiet voice wrapped around his head like a shadow.

Lucien let out a breathy laugh and shook his head. 

His hands trembled.

"No, don't apologize.I'm sorry."

They stood in awkward silence for a moment. 

"What... what did you need, Nuala?"

His words were stammered and unintelligent.

He cursed himself soundly.

Hardly glancing up, she answered that she had come to drain his bath and tidy the bathing room. 

She assumed he would have been sleeping.

Lucien cursed himself again.Of course. 

She did every night.It was her damn job.

Before he could answer, Nuala looked up at him, her deep glittering eyes scrutinizing him with something that looked remarkably akin to concern.

"My lord... are you..."

She cut herself off shaking her head, and turned to go to the baths. 

Lucien frowned.

"What is it, Nuala?"

She stopped, and turned back slowly, hesitantly.

"Are you... alright, Lord Lucien?"

He felt his cheeks burn red, but sighed and smiled sadly.

"Have you ever loved someone, Nuala?"

She was silent, so he looked at her.

Her face was wary.

"Yes."

Lucien huffed out a heavy breath and scrubbed his face with his hands.

"Then you know," he said to her.

"You know what it's like to be utterly, and completely consumed by them.When you can't have them.That..."

He lowered his voice.

"...Pain."

Nuala's eyes softened.

"You speak of Lady Elain."

He clenched his jaw and looked away, nodding sharply.

She was silent, and suddenly Lucien felt a soft hand on his arm.

He flinched and looked up, and Nuala was there.

"I know your pain, my lord."

He laughed harshly, a cold and broken sound, like shattered glass.

"Then I am sorry for you, Nuala."

She shook her head.

"I am not.But you do not deserve this pain.So for that, I am sorry."

A pang lanced through Lucien's chest.

He tilted his head to the side. 

More than Rhysand's spy and handmaiden.

A kind female with a good heart.

He gave her a crooked smile, and her hand slipped from his arm.

"I can't say I've ever heard you speak so much, Nuala."

She ducked her head.

"Apologies, my lord."

She turned and stepped towards the bathroom, but Lucien touched her arm softly.

"I did not mean it that way.I only mean I was surprised."

He paused, searching for the right words.

"Not unpleasantly so."

She turned back towards him and nodded.

"There are few who care to listen."

Another laugh bubbled up out of his chest.

"I'm sorry Nuala.I... look at me.I'm a mess.Your loyalties and sympathies lie with Rhysand and Feyre's family.Not me."

She cocked her head to the side.

Very much like a night cat.

"My loyalties lie with Rhysand and his court, which you have been a part of for some time now, Lord Lucien.If your loyalties lie with us, then mine lie with you."

Another pang rushed through him, a wall breaking down. 

He bowed his head in thanks. 

If he tried to speak it would be broken. 

The air became charged, and he could feel that she wanted to speak.

When his eyes met hers he was certain that she was holding something back.

"What is it," he asked quietly.

His body still thrummed with heat.

"You suffer," she murmured, stepping closer.

He watched her warily, suddenly very aware of his indecency.

"My lord... I can help you if you wish."

Lucien's cock twitched in response but his face paled.

"I... Elain....."

Nuala's face betrayed very little of her thoughts and feelings any other day. 

But now there was clear sympathy and mild hunger there.

"Lord Lucien, you are a mated male, but one who suffers the extended indecision of his female.I know the anguish and toll it takes.Let me help you."

She stepped closer still, cool breath raising goosebumps on his bare chest.

He could not deny that she was beautiful.

Her skin was a soft, taupe color.Shadowy and supple.

Her eyes shone brightly, reflecting every light like a star, and her hair fell like silken shadows, shifting ever so slightly like a wraith.

Full lips, arched brows, an elegant, willowy figure.

She was beautiful.

But a part of him was reviled by the thought of being with her.

With any female besides his mate.

Lucien's breath hitched when Nuala places and chilled hand on his chest.

"Pretend.Close your eyes, my lord.Pretend it is her."

Lucien's breath was ragged as her hands slid down his chest onto his stomach.

He gripped her wrists tightly, stopping the path they made, burning down his body.

"Nuala-"

"Pretend," she whispered, and his grip loosened on her hands.

Looking up at him, she sank to her knees, fingers brushing his exposed hip bones and the edge of the towel.

Tongues of fire licked his skin at her touch, his mind battling him but his body reacting keenly to her feather light touch.

Her eyes remained trained on his.

Pretend.

Lucien took in a shuddering breath and closed his eyes, screwing them tightly.

A choked gasp left his lips as he felt the towel fall away, as he felt her cool hands slide along his thighs, felt lips kiss beneath his naval, and lower...

A shudder ran through him, ice and flame striking him, pleasure from even the slightest touch on his skin cooking and striking in his belly.

He felt his cock, painfully hard, twitch with no touch from Nuala.

Yet.

He cringed as his mind went to her.

This was wrong.

He had a mate.

He wanted his mate.

But Nuala was right. 

If he didn't find relief beyond his own hand, he would go insane.

So his mind reached out to that thread and he pulled, smelling her scent and hearing her voice, imagining...

Soft lips touched the base of his cock and a desperate cry erupted from him, hips bucking.

Slender fingers pressed into his hips, holding him back.

A small tongue flicked the tip of him, tasting him where he leaked so shamefully.

And then he was engulfed, his manhood encircled by a warm, wet mouth with an expert tongue that swirled around him and did her best to suck every ounce of life from him.

Garbled and senseless moans escaped him, his hands in that silken hair that he told himself over and over smelled of roses, and not moon kissed jasmine.

Unbearable pleasure sparked in him, traveling in boots of lightening up to his throat.

His hips bucked again and again, chest heaving, breaths uneven at the hands and mouth working his cock simply to relieve him.

To please him.

His focus on his mate wavered, and as the pleasure climbed his mind became addled and directly focused on the dark shadow female on her knees before him.

His muscles spasmed and clenched, and as the absolute pleasure in him coiled in a final spring, he heard himself in ringing ears speak a name he had not meant to.

As he came, seed pouring out into Rhysand's spy's talented mouth, Lucien groaned,

"Nuala..."

An exhausted sigh escaped him, and as Nuala released him, Lucien stumbled backwards and sat heavily on the edge of his bed.

His eyes were fogged from the force of his release.

They cleared a moment later, thought his breath still came in shaking pants.

When he could see again, Nuala was gone.

Despite how tired he was, Lucien sat up abruptly and hastily found the towel again, covering himself and rushing into the bathing room.

"Nuala?"

The bath was drained and clean.

The floor was dry.

The cabinet that had broken under Lucien's hands was fixed and closed.

And Nuala was gone.

Lucien cursed and turned back into the room, looking about fervently, and then marched to the door, pushing his head out and looking down the hall.

Damn the wraith sisters.

A shiver ran down Lucien's body, but his appetite was dated completely.

His mind raced for a moment, but as he turned back into the room his eyes found the bed.

And exhaustion overtook him.

Lucien's head hit the pillow before he realized he had drifted to his bed, and he thought blearily before he fell asleep, that he would find Nuala tomorrow.

They needed to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Day Court- Classical and Medieval Egypt  
> *Night Court- Classical Mediterranean   
> *Dawn Court- Classical India   
> *Spring Court- Classical and Medieval Saxon and Gaelic regions  
> *Summer Court- Classical and post-classical Caribbean Region (I have very little knowledge about this region and it's history)  
> *Autumn Court- Classical and Medieval Scandinavia  
> *Winter Court- Classical and Medieval Northern Slavia 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't usually write fanfiction, and this is in no way my best work. I have my own views on the characters in SJM books and will try my best to keep them canonical in personality. Try


	5. The Secret

Arabella woke to Helion's slow breath on her neck, his arms wrapped around her, naked body pressed against her back.

The sun streamed through the stained glass sky light, scattering ruby and gold light over the room, mottling Helion's warm skin with jewels.

The sheets had been pushed back to the foot of the bed in the night, and Arabella's robe had shifted up to reveal her hip up to her waist.

Where Helion's breath caressed her skin, the robe had also fallen away, leaving her shoulder and neck exposed and bare.

A small mewl rose in her chest, and she fought the urge to press herself further into the warmth of Helion.

But then Helion's arms tightened around her and pulled her close anyway.

His breath became heavier and his nose nuzzled her ear.

Arabella laughed softly and arched her neck.

"Good morning," he whispered, lips moving against her skin.

It tickled.

Another giggle escaped her, as though she were once again a youngling, and she squirmed in Helion's grasp.

He only laughed darkly and continued his path down her neck and into the crook of her shoulder

"Helion..."

Her voice was still thick with sleep and he hummed into her skin.

His warm hands crept to her naked hip and she rolled them up into his touch, head back.

Arabella reached up a hand and pulled softly at his hair, mussed with sleep.

Helion's hands tightened on her hips, his lips roaming the tender skin of her shoulder. 

Arabella sighed, pressing back into him.

When was the last time she had been woken like this? When the morning had not brought dread, but gaiety?

When his hands brushed her stomach, she turned in his arms, facing him. 

Eyes still closed, lips parted, hair mussed, he could've been sleeping but for his roaming and errant fingers.

She reached up, gently brushing back the smooth curls of his hair.

Helion's eyes opened, deep molten gold in the sunlight. 

His wandering hands moved to catch her fingers, holding them against his cheek.

"Hello," he murmured.

Arabella's cheeks flushed.

"Hello."

A sleepy grin lit his face and he pulled her tightly into his arms, face buried in her hair.

Arabella sighed and closed her eyes again, bathing in the sunlight and warmth, both from Helion himself.

She could have lain there forever. 

And she would have.

She groaned and stretched a bit.

Helion let out a indignant whine, that was anything but dignified, and attempted to draw her back to his body.

"Helion..."

He hugged against her skin and said nothing.

Arabella smiled despite herself, and felt an urge to burrow down into his arms and never leave.

"High Lord, you have duties to tend to."

Helion groaned again, and this time when he tried to pull her closer, she rolled out of his grasp.

"Ari..."

His voice was a rolling growl, thick with sleep.

She sat up, not bothering to pull the precariously hanging robe back up onto her naked shoulder. 

Helion still lay sprawled, reaching for her, eyes still shut. 

Arabella's lips curled up and she turned, crawling on all fours back across the bed towards his massive body until she straddled him.

Lowering her lips to his ear until her mouth brushed his skin, she murmured,

"My lord you must wake."

In a sudden wave, he surged up, gripping her body and flipping her onto her back so that his great mass smothered her.

His lips attacked her forehead, her neck, her bare shoulder, the naked skin of the top of her breast that the robe had nearly completely exposed, and she laughed and squirmed beneath him.

She couldn't keep her hands from trailing his back, scraping light trails into his skin with her blunt nails.

And it was clear to Arabella that he suffered mornings as every male did, for his arousal lay clear and hard against her leg. 

"Helion," she whispered, laughter faded into something pungently arousing. 

Would she ever be able to resist this golden eyed beautiful male that had now stopped his kisses down her body to stare into her soul?

Leaning up, she pressed her lips to his. 

He groaned into her mouth, and the sound sent shocks of arousal down between her leg, her arousal already beginning to drip down her thighs. 

"Ari," he murmured, and raised a hand, lacing his fingers through her hair.

She sighed in response.

But when his fingers became more insistent on her body, when his kisses grew more passionate and the arousal against and between her legs became unbearable, Arabella put a shaking hand against his chest, pulled away, and grimaced.

"Helion..."

Her voice cracked and a growl tumbled through Helion's chest.

But he stopped.

He gave her a half smile, cocky as ever, if not disappointed, and tucked her disarrayed hair back behind her ear. 

Then, he sighed, climbed out of the bed, and extended a hand to her, reveling in the fact that her cheeks grew hot at his nakedness.

"Shall we to breakfast, my dear?"

...

Something troubled her.Greatly.

Helion closely watched Arabella as she ate breakfast across from him.

Yesterday, he had accepted the tears, the discomfort, the hesitance as open wounds from Beron's life and death.

But now... of course, those things did not heal overnight. 

But there was something more than pain and shame. 

Something poured off of her in sheets, making her tremble, making her quell her desire for him.

Arabella was keeping secrets.

Helion speared a cube of fruit and brought it to his mouth, still studying Arabella's face.

By the Mother he'd missed looking at her face.

But not like this.

Not with her shields up, even if there were less than when Beron was alive. 

Cauldron, how could he truly expect her to break down all of her walls only days after her liberation?

He was being selfish.

The next cube of fruit was nearly pulverized by his fork before he chewed on it grudgingly. 

He was being unfair and apathetic. 

He knew.

But Mother above, it killed him that she was keeping a secret from him. 

Not only for his own sake, but for hers. 

Whatever it was was eating her alive. 

Now, though, he would be patient. 

Helion would let his precious Ari come to him, in her own time, when she felt safe.

He leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin propped up on his fist.

"So, my dear,"

She looked up from her plate, eyes wide like a child caught with the holiday plums.

"How did you sleep?"

Helion held back a grin at her flushed cheeks.

Her body reacted so keenly to him.

But she cleared her throat and straightened her back as she said

"Just as well as you, my lord."

This time, it was Helion's turn for heat to creep up his throat, and he thanked the mother for his dark skin to hide it. 

He let his face grow sympathetic, morose.

"I do hope not, my lady. I found that my sleep was quite..."

He grinned.

"Restless."

Arabella's blush deepened, and suddenly, the tension and secrecy between them was forgotten.

"Oh?" Her eyes fell back to her plate, where she mindlessly pushed forgotten food around with her fork.

"And why is that, my lord?"

His filthy response was just behind his teeth, at the tip of his tongue, when he was interrupted by someone else's presence.

Glancing up, Helion stood and inclined his head.

"Amun."

His Master of Agriculture bowed at the waist, though he looked slightly troubled and out of breath as he rose.

"My lord Helion,"

Amun glanced uncertainly at Arabella, who had withdrawn within her shell again, and then back at Helion with expectancy in his eyes.

Helion furrowed his brow.

"Speak, Amun, so that the lady and I may finish our breakfast."

Amun opened his mouth and shut it once more, confusion now taking the place of expectation.

"My lord... the meeting..."

Helion raised an eyebrow.

He had finished his weekly meetings the evening before.

Amun cleared his throat.

"The meeting with the Master of Coin, and myself?"

Helion paused, and held back a groan.

Of course.

He had been so distracted, so eager to get back to Arabella the night before that he had postponed his final meeting of the week to discuss the finances of feeding the troops and their effort in feeding the homeless in neighboring courts.

Forcing himself to keep his eyes off of Arabella, to keep the guilt and embarrassment off of his face, Helion inclined his head.

"Forgive me, Amun.I shall join you both shortly."

Amun bowed, and dared a glance at the former lady of Autumn before slipping back out of the sun room.

Helion sighed and his shoulders dropped a bit before he turned back towards the table.

Arabella was studying him, curiosity in her russet eyes. 

When she cocked her head a bit, Helion quirked a brow.

"What are you gawking at, my dear?"

Her gaze became no less studious as she shook her head.

"Not gawking, Helion. Learning."

This time, he let a grin lift his face again, and he leaned forward, bracing his forearms on the table so that their faces were level.

"Learning what, my lady? You know me too well to learn any more."

Arabella smiled, and any eye other than his would miss the sadness there.

"No, Helion. We've both changed."

There was a pang of something he couldn't identify in his chest.

Grief? Resentment?

Fear?

He opened his mouth, not knowing how to respond to what she had said and the implications of it, but his eyes were pulled to the door.

This conversation was vitally important.

But it would take a long time, and already he was shirking his duties as High Lord.

Arabella smiled again, sweetly, and put a cool hand to Helion's cheek.

"Go. I shall see you tonight."

Helion hesitated, and then gripped her hand and pressed his lips to her palm. 

"Sooner than that, my dear. I will be by your side come noon."

And he forced himself to walk away without looking back.

Because if he looked in her eyes again, beheld her fiery hair, her alabaster skin...

Helion would never be able to leave her.

...

Arabella watched him leave, and prayed that he wouldn't turn back before he left. 

It was just a meeting. 

A few hours, at most. 

They had already suffered 700 years apart in silence. 

It was ridiculous, juvenile, to crave his presence at all hours of the day. 

Especially when she was absolutely bursting with guilt and the things she had kept from him.

Arabella needed time, to think, to clear her head of Helion's intoxicating presence. 

To come to terms with the fact that she had very little time left to reveal her hand. 

She set her fork down on her plate, long past done eating, and wrapped her arms about her stomach. 

It was all a long time coming, but to have it so abruptly thrust upon her was overwhelming. 

And there had been no lie when she had told Helion that they had both changed. 

He had always been hot tempered, even if he could put on his mask of ice. 

Would he react badly?

Of course he would.She shook her head.

How silly of her to even think that he would not.

The real question was, would he react the same way Beron had. 

And if she didn't tell him soon, would he find out the same way Beron had?

Arabella's heart quickened, her blood growing cold, just at the memory of Beron. 

Of what he had done.

Her breath grew shallow, heat pricking her eyes, hands clenched to stop them from shaking.

If Helion... if he raged as Beron had, or worse, if he turned his back on her as he had every right to do... that would be the final straw. 

The cracks would widen and her world would crumble around her. 

Arabella forced herself to close her eyes, to steady herself. 

It took three minutes to finally force her lungs to take in a long, slow, deep breath. 

Dropping her arms from her waist felt like breaking apart a statue.

Her eyes settled on a cube of fruit. 

Everything here, even this fruit, was so beautiful. 

Not perfect.Never perfect. 

The imperfection was what drew her in from the beginning, as a youth. 

The imperfection of a radiant high lord who could act with reckless abandon and damn the consequences.

But how did she fit in now?

She had worked so hard for so many years to arrange her broken pieces into a perfect mold. 

She was perfectly broken, and from what she could see, Day was still imperfectly whole.

Her heart ached.

Helion still remembered who she used to be. 

She didn't know if she could find that girl again. 

She feared that Helion would grow tired of these episodes of terror that she had.That he would remember what she once was and cast aside who she had become.

Deep in her heart, she knew that he was not that way.That he was different from Beron.That he had honor and loyalty, and a deep and abiding love for her.

But her mind played games with her in the darkness. 

It was why she had lost her nerve when she had arrived in Day. 

Why she had avoided the true reason she had come so quickly to Helion's court after her husband's death. 

Arabella had turned into a coward. 

And she hated it. 

She huffed a bitter laugh.

Even the fruit here was radiant. 

Would her darkness infect it?

Or would the light be her salvation once again?

The day passed on virtually uneventfully. 

Helion's court treated her as a guest, however unwelcome they thought she was. 

Without Helion's hand in marriage, she had no status, and thus no responsibility as a lady. 

So she spent the day wandering the court, avoiding the other lords and ladies who resided in the palace, and refamiliarizing herself.

Arabella has a vivid memory of a certain place within the palace, hidden away from the crowds and business. 

A room, completely round, but for the floor, roofed in stained glass that filtered golden rainbows out across the entire chamber. 

Inside we're carefully cultivated plants that Helion had gifted to her, knowing her love of growing things. 

Over the years, she had thought often about her secluded greenhouse, with light like spilled gemstones that made those beautiful warm natured plants thrive. 

In the excitement and thrill of seeing Helion again, it had not occurred to her to ask where it was.

Instead, she took the chance to wander and find it again.

Arabella had also looked for Ahmes, but in failing to locate her dear friend, reverted back to her original, if not lazy, search. 

It had been hours, at least four, since her breakfast with Helion.

Five, since waking up beside him, since his hands lit her body on fire.

She shivered, remembering his touch as she rounded a corner and started down a long corridor, her steps echoing along with the catch in her breath.

Vision tunneling, she walked aimlessly and without regard to caution. 

The only thing in her mind was his smile, his touch, his eyes... cauldron his eyes...

"You might want to work on controlling that, my lady."

Arabella jerked out of her daydream and whirled around.

Not ten feet from her, meaning she had walked past and not realized, a male leaned casually against the wall.

His easy smile was almost as cocky as Helion's but without the weight of the world behind it. 

Without a sharp edge.

It was soft, playful, devious.

A flush had risen to her cheeks almost immediately, and she must have looked ridiculous. 

Before she had time to compose herself, or react, he pushed off of the wall and ambled towards her, with no shame or propriety.

Stopping before her, he bowed slightly at the waist.

"Lady Arabella."

The surprise wore off, and a wide smile took its place.

"Rawer!"

She threw her arms around him, and he laughed, picking her up and spinning her around in circles.

Arabella let out a laugh of her own, and Rawer put her down on her own two feet at last, hugging her tightly and giving her a kiss on the cheek.

When he finally pulled away, he held her at arms length.

"Hello, Ari," he grinned.

She smiled back and shook her head.

"What are you doing all the way back here?I thought you were supposed to be in a meeting with our high lord, Master of Coin." 

She winked at him.

Rawer shifted on his feet, and raised a hand to the back of his neck awkwardly, but his chest swelled with pride.

"Ahmes told me she found you yesterday.I suppose I should've known she'd tell you all the exciting news."

Arabella laughed and took his other hand in both of hers.

"I've missed you so, dear friend. How proud I am of you!"

She spotted a bench off to their left, further up the corridor, and led him to it, eagerly sitting.

"Now. Tell me everything."

Rawer threw his head back, his laugh echoing loudly.

"Ari, our dear Ahmes has told you all there is to know!"

Arabella scoffed and rolled her eyes, taking her hands out of his to stab a finger into his arm.

He had the nerve to look injured.

"I want to hear everything from you, little scarab. We both know Ahmes has a habit of telling stories."

She raised an eyebrow and Rawer nodded in false defeat.

"That she does."

He sighed.

"Alright. Why don't we start with what you DO know, then, lady fox."

Arabella smiled joyously, for the first time truly forgetting her troubles. 

Oh, how she had missed her friends. 

She had many years to make up for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Day Court- Classical and Medieval Egypt  
> *Night Court- Classical Mediterranean   
> *Dawn Court- Classical India   
> *Spring Court- Classical and Medieval Saxon and Gaelic regions  
> *Summer Court- Classical and post-classical Caribbean Region (I have very little knowledge about this region and it's history)  
> *Autumn Court- Classical and Medieval Scandinavia  
> *Winter Court- Classical and Medieval Northern Slavia 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't usually write fanfiction, and this is in no way my best work. I have my own views on the characters in SJM books and will try my best to keep them canonical in personality.


	6. The Confidant

"So, Arabella.You asked me why I was here.But why are you here?What brought you to Day so soon after..."

Rawer waved a hand.

Neither of them wanted to speak Beron's name.To bring him back into existence, even if only in memory. 

Arabella looked down at her hands. 

They had spent the last hour talking about Rawer's side of Ahmes' story. 

His family, his position, the mating. 

But of course, after so many centuries, he would want to know what had become of one of his best friends.

Arabella knew that and had chosen to ignore it in the moment.

So now her hands twisted in her lap and she battled in her mind to find the words to say. 

Ahmes had not asked.She had only offered comfort and companionship.

But Rawer has always been a bit different. 

Far more insightful. 

Quiet, but observant. 

And Arabella's sudden appearance was something not easily overlooked, even by the most imperceptive.

She nearly jolted when she felt his soft touch on her arm.

"Ari?"

She glanced up to see his brow furrowed slightly in concern.

"Ari, tell me what's wrong."

She smiled softly, sadly, and looked down again.

"I don't know if I can explain, Ra."

He pulled her tightly against his side, and she rested her head on his shoulder. 

His voice was quiet above her head.

"Are you no longer welcome in Autumn? Has Eris sent you away?"

Arabella laughed softly and shook her head as well as she could.

"No. Eris is not his father. I will always have a place at his side. I simply couldn't fill it right away. Not after sitting at a High Lord's side for so many years."

But even as she spoke, she felt the guilt rising up inside her.

Had she abandoned her son to fend off the wolves of Autumn? 

To fend off his brothers that Beron had trained so well?

Rawer rubbed her shoulder comfortingly, but said nothing.

Waiting for her to continue.

Arabella sighed.

"I... I came because I couldn't stay away any longer. I stopped dreaming of the day I could come back long ago. And then, suddenly, it was thrust upon me and I felt compelled to come here," she explained.

Without a plan. With more than one purpose. 

With so many secrets.

"You know how much I love him," she whispered.

"I always have.I never lost that."

Arabella felt Rawer nod, but again he remained silent. 

It was strange. 

There was nothing to fill the silence but her own voice.

There were no interruptions.

It had been too long since she had been given a stage, however small, to speak her mind.

Rawer knew that. 

But then again, he had always known the right thing to do. 

But even still her heart began to race. 

The truth was looming nearer and nearer, with fewer reasons and excuses to give for being here. 

"I am afraid, Ra.Afraid of losing him."

Rawer tensed beside her.

She thought he would remain silent, but after a moment he spoke.

"Ari, you have been married and caged away, bearing children for another male, suffering alone for 700 years.And still he waited.What could possibly tear the two of you apart now?Of all times?"

Arabella's breath caught as she attempted to take a deep breath.

She hesitated.

"Ra, I've changed.I am not the same as I once was."

His response was immediate.

"Of course you have.Even had you not suffered that tyrant," he spat, and there was venom in his voice.

"Even if you had been here, safe, you would be different than you were.We all are."

Arabella was stunned at the bitterness and anger in Rawer's voice. 

He had always been so carefree, so calm yet jovial. 

Was this anger, this pain... had it taken root because of her? 

Much of Helion's fury certainly had. 

She shook her head slightly.

"I know.I'm... I've done things, Ra.To protect to people I love.And I just... it might be too painful for Helion.For you.For Ahmes."

Her voice dropped into a whisper.

"I'm so terrified of losing you all after I've only just found you again."

Rawer pulled back, and Arabella instantly missed his comforting shoulder. 

He turned to face her, something akin to grief on his face. 

"What do you think of us, Ari?That we would turn our backs on you?"

He gripped her shoulders in earnest.

"Ari, you are a sister to me.Ahmes and I... you're our family.You know what that means to us.That you weren't there for our mating, for the birth of our children... pained us more than you can know.If you think we would miss that again, for some necessary evil, as if we haven't all done terrible things for a greater good, then you must not think highly of us."

Arabella sputtered and gaped weakly, but could findnothing to say. 

In her mind, her secrets were vital but unforgivable. 

How could she explain that to him if he didn't know?

Realization and dread pinged through her chest. 

They would all know soon enough. 

Telling Rawer now...

Would it make it easier to tell Helion?

Cauldron, she didn't know. 

She sighed, resigned.

"I hope you're right, Ra."

He took her head in both his hands and pressed his brow to hers.

"I know I am, sister."

...

Arabella and Rawer sat, the latter in stunned silence, in Helion's chambers. 

She had insisted that they move their conversation, which had taken a more confessional tone, to a private setting. 

Arabella watched Rawer's face warily, expectantly.

He was frozen in his seat, eyes wide, lips parted.

He'd been like that since she told him her secret, and all through the explanation.The story behind and past it. 

She winced when she realized that there had been so many excuses.

There had been silence between them for what felt like decades, her trying to find words to beg him to say something.

The quiet stretched taut, until she swore she could cut the tension with a dull knife. 

Cauldron, what he must think of her.

This is what Arabella had been afraid of. 

This is what had haunted her for so many years, and plagued her nightmares in Beron's place since his death.

Her tears, which had already dried on her cheeks, rose up again, pricking her eyes with heat. 

Finally working up her courage to speak, she choked on the first word.

"I... Rawer?" She whispered. 

Panic made her limbs weak and her breath shallow, but she kept the episode at bay. 

Her voice seemed to connect something inside him, because he blinked and shook his head.

Now, when he looked at her, there was still shock in his face, but something else as well.

Concern. 

Confusion.

Hope.

Pity.

Arabella gritted her teeth and looked away.

She didn't want his pity. 

She didn't know what she wanted from him, but it was not pity. 

"Ari..."

Arabella kept her gaze down, ignoring the hand he placed on her arm.

Instead, she studied the scattered light on the pale bedspread, admiring the broken pattern that resembled her lost greenhouse. 

"Arabella, look at me, please."

Her chin trembled.

Light that rivaled every jewel in every crown. 

Light that she hadn't seen in centuries. 

Rawer sighed, and she could see him run a hand through his hair in frustration. 

"Fine.Don't look.But at least listen, alright?"

She gave no response, but her eyes shifted towards him, still downcast, and he continued.

"You want to know the truth?I'm furious."

Arabella's heart sank.

Of course. 

A tear dropped off of her lashes and down to her lips.

"I'm livid.I'm raging inside.And do you know why?"

She could feel herself curling in, cringing and cowering. 

"Because this means that Beron took so much more than you from us.He took so much more than the female who should've been the Lady of Day.And I'm furious that he had the power to do that.That Day court couldn't have our revenge."

Arabella glanced up.

There were tears running down Rawer's face.

"I wish..." his voice caught.

"I wish there had been a way.A way for Helion to know.But the reality of it, is that you did what you had to to survive.To protect."

His voice was thick now with grief and he had to look away and pause.

It was Arabella's turn to be stunned, and in her shock her heart shattered again and again. 

She wept silently alongside her brother.

When he finally turned back to her, the grief was still there. 

But something new as well.

"Ari, I would turn back the clock to change this.But... this is our hope.In a storm of uncertainty after Hybern... you have come to us with hope."

He pulled her roughly into his arms and she let out a loud sob, shaking against him, not holding back her tears any longer.

Cauldron, she could only hope Helion would be so forgiving. 

...

Helion had asked every servant, every official, lord and lady residing in the palace where she was. 

All of them had a different answer. 

In the kitchens, my lord.

In the west wing with the children, Lord Helion.

I believe she was visiting the Lady Ahmes, my lord.

In the East library.

He had checked all these places and more. 

He had looked in his chambers more than once.

He had even looked through the greenhouse he knew she loved so well.

Still, nothing. 

His mood had steadily worsened as the hours passed and the sun began to set.

What she must think of him, unable to find her in his own home.

Or worse, that he had abandoned her.

The thought that she might have left the palace in his absence had crossed his mind more than once, and threatened to stop him in his tracks.

But he wouldn't jump to conclusions before he had searched the palace twice over.

Now, he walked heavily back to his chambers, both to check for Arabella once more and to rest. 

No doubt she would come back anyway once the night settled in.

Helion stopped before the doors and sighed, pressing a hand to the dark wood.

Voices from within stayed his hand, and he froze, straining his ears to hear what they said.

"He'll be angry, Ra."

Arabella's voice.

Helion's chest tightened when a male voice responded.

A voice he had been in meeting with all morning and afternoon.

"You must tell him. How long do you hope to keep it from him? From the world?"

After almost a millennium of life, Helion knew better than to jump to conclusions of any sort.

Such behaviour bred bad blood.

So he continued to listen, though his hands began to shake.

"I can't bear to break his heart. What will it do to the court? They need him to be strong. Focused."

Helion's stomach turned.

"You cannot decide for him. You can only decide for you. If he reacts the way you fear, then he is not the high lord we thought he was."

Bile coated Helion's tongue as he fought nausea, hearing Rawer, his Master of Coin and close friend, speak of him so. 

Speak to Arabella so.

Had Arabella's heart been moved so quickly? 

Was this worth betraying Rawer's mate and Arabella's best friend?

Helion knew better than to jump to conclusions.

But what other conclusion could he draw?

He had little strength left to hold himself back, outside of his own chambers.

He gritted his teeth. 

Cuckolded by his long lost love and one of his chief advisors.

"However he reacts, this is on me, Ra. No one else is responsible for what I have done. It is my burden."

Even through the thick doors, Helion could hear her voice shaking, as though she had been crying.

Was she remorseful? For betraying him like this? For betraying Ahmes?

"It is not your burden alone. I carry it with you now. Know that you are never alone in this. But you must tell him. And soon, before it is revealed to him by another."

Helion's hands curled into fists.

Enough of this. 

Before they could continue, he dropped the mask over his face.

He would not make himself vulnerable or readable until they revealed their hand.

He was ice and stone.

He pushed the doors open and walked inside. 

Helion was grateful for his mask, for he might have choked or sneered at the scene before him.

Rawer and Arabella were sitting, knee to knee, on the edge of his bed. 

Hands clasped together, shoulders pressed.

Helion schooled his expression into cool disinterest.

He nodded at Rawer, who was now standing, disentangling his hands from Arabella's, and bowed to his high lord.

"Excuse me, my lord."

He glanced back at Arabella.

"I understand the two of you have much to discuss."

Helion's eyes followed Rawer out the door.

The third of the doors shutting brought his gaze back to Arabella, who was unnaturally pale in the face.

There was a word for the expression on her blatantly emotional face.

Terror.

She was terrified. 

Of him?

Cauldron, he was angry and hurt, but it was far more painful to see her look at him the same way she looked when spoke about Beron. 

He cleared his throat, but the mask remained down. 

"Good evening, my dear."

Her smile was wan.

"Good evening, Helion."

He padded across the room, to the large wardrobe, and opened it smoothly.

"I looked for you after my meetings.For the life of me, I couldn't find you anywhere."

He paused in his meaningless rifling through his clothes.

"I do hope you can forgive me for leaving you to your... devices."

She was silent behind him. 

She hadn't moved from her seat on the bed. 

Helion continued to blindly and uncaringly scrutinize random articles of clothing. 

If she had something to tell him, she would tell him. 

Long minutes stretched into an uncomfortable silence.

Arabella broke the silence with a sharp curse.

When she spoke again, it was hardly the same as her expletive outburst.

"How much did you hear," she murmured.

Helion tensed so abruptly and fiercely that his muscles creaked and his bones protested.

He turned to face her.

"Hear? Hear about what, my dear?"

His body was drawn taut like a bowstring, ready to snap. 

She looked at him and let out a tired breath.

"We are not children, Helion. The time for games is behind us."

Her voice was weary. Aged.

Surprise bolted through him. 

Arabella had been less than assertive since her arrival, and now suddenly she demanded answers from him?

He cocked his head and stalked forward, the mask slipping.

"Quite right, Arabella. No more games."

He refused to be angry. 

He refused to be like him.

So he sat down, and all that was left was pain.

"No more games. Why did you come here, Ari?"

He looked into her face, so thin and pale.

So beautiful despite her suffering.

She started to answer, mouth falling open, but he stopped her before she could.

"You came, and you were so reluctant to stay with me, to stay by my side. Is it because you no longer desire me?"

Helion forced himself to continue without a hitch in his words.

"Arabella, if you must choose another then you are certainly free to do so. But Rawer is a mated male and-"

A sharp laugh from her cut him off.

So different from her soft spoken words only moments ago.

Arabella raised her eyebrows and snorted.

"Rawer? Is that what you think?"

It was his turn to sit in stunned silence as she wrapped her arms about her stomach and laughed until she couldn't breath.

Her face grew red and tears built up in the corners of her eyes, and still she laughed and cackled.

Helion didn't know whether to be concerned, offended or relieved that she was so tickled by his accusation.

His brow furrowed as she struggled to take a deep breath, fighting her fit of laughter until it at last died back and she wiped at the tears beneath her eyes.

Was she drunk?

Arabella closed her eyes and exhaled shakily, still visibly fighting a smile. 

When she opened them again, she reached for Helion's hands.

Her hands were cool against his skin that radiated warmth. 

A part of him shied away, wanting to be petty. 

She still had not explained herself, and he was inclined to be guarded.

But her touch made him feel alive, even when he was confused and hurt. 

Her thumb stroked the back of his hands.

"Helion, I can promise you this. There is no other. I have loved you since the masque, all those years ago, when you were a son of a High Lord, and I was a naive little girl in search of a husband."

Helion was instantly back at the masque, remembering how she had first appeared to him, all rosy cheeks and wildness. 

Before he could respond, Arabella stood and faced him head on, leaning forward to press her brow to his.

Helion's breath caught in his chest painfully. 

She still loved him. 

She had said it herself. 

"There is nothing more than friendship between me and Rawer. Have no fear of that."

There was still laughter lacing her words. 

Helion grimaced.

"I'm a jealous fool, Ari," he murmured. 

"Forgive me?"

The only grief in Helion's heart now was borne of regret and embarrassment.

How quick he had been to assume. 

Was he so insecure in the feelings they shared for each other that her friendship with Rawer would threaten him so?

He begged her forgiveness for that offense.

Arabella bowed her head until it rested on his shoulder, and took a deep shuddering breath.

Her words were muffled against his skin.

"There is nothing to forgive."

Helion pulled her into his lap, bring her legs around him, and kissed her hair. 

"So then, my dear,"

He murmured. 

They had yet to address what he had heard, what she had spoken to Rawer about. 

Their fear of his wrath. 

"What have you been concealing?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Day Court- Classical and Medieval Egypt  
> *Night Court- Classical Mediterranean   
> *Dawn Court- Classical India   
> *Spring Court- Classical and Medieval Saxon and Gaelic regions  
> *Summer Court- Classical and post-classical Caribbean Region (I have very little knowledge about this region and it's history)  
> *Autumn Court- Classical and Medieval Scandinavia  
> *Winter Court- Classical and Medieval Northern Slavia 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't usually write fanfiction, and this is in no way my best work. I have my own views on the characters in SJM books and will try my best to keep them canonical in personality.


	7. The Emissary

The day he had finally decided to track Nuala down to talk, was the same day a messenger had interrupted Lucien's meeting with the Inner Circle to announce his father's death.

And the rise of a new High Lord of Autumn.

Eris.

Thus, Lucien's plans were violently thrust in another, more hostile direction. 

_Father is dead._

Cauldron, he'd waited so long to hear that news. 

Waited but not hoped. 

Now that the day was finally here...

He was being sent to Autumn both as former son of the deceased, and as emissary to ensure relations between courts.

Now that his father was dead, Lucien had no further excuse to give to Rhysand and his goons to avoid Autumn. 

It was his cauldron-damned job.

And he cursed it.

He cursed it the entire journey, winnowing a few miles at a time down through Day, Dawn, and stopping, for three full days, at Kallias' palace in Winter.

Kallias and his wife had been welcoming and hospitable. 

But even they knew that Lucien was delaying the inevitable. 

The morning of his departure, Kallias saw him off alone. 

They stood side by side at the entrance to the cave that would take him into Autumn. 

Where his brothers and the rest of the wolves of Autumn waited.

Kallias spoke, his warm voice cutting through the frost of the air, betraying the ice of his visage. 

"I remember how Beron was.He will not be missed in Winter, Lucien Vanserra."

Lucien snorted, unbothered by how indecent that might be now that he served as emissary to Night. 

"He was damned long before Eris decided to take the throne, Lord Kallias."

He glanced at the young High Lord, before shouldering his bag and taking a step forward.

"He'll not be missed anywhere."

And with that, he stepped through. 

The world spun, and music filled his ears, the scent of apples and fire in his nose.

Until it all gee so intense, Lucien thought his head might explode from the ringing.

And then, there was light.

It blinded him at first, but Lucien did not need to see to know where he was. 

What it looked like.

And yet, he found himself breathing in deeply, savoring the crisp smell of the bitter air. 

The sun had yet to rise, so the leaves on the ground were coated in pale frost.

Here, though, it was different. 

In winter, the frost was lovely. It glittered and shimmered.

The snow was soft and clean, and even if it was dangerous, that cold, it was inviting and childlike. 

Here... the frost in Autumn was a reminder.

Everything here was harsh.

Lucien shuddered as the air burned his lungs and the sharp wind blew his unbound hair back.

He hadn't bothered to tie it up this morning. 

The color of his hair matched the leaves still on the great trees in the dim light.

Sometimes he resented it. 

Another reminder of where he was from. Of who had sired him. 

Of who had shattered his heart.

But others... other times it made him ache for home.

As it had been once. 

The scent of apples was faint in the wind, but it reminded him keenly of his mother.

She had been so gentle, so kind. 

Lucien's eyes scanned the treetops, remembering how she used to sing to him beneath the apple trees, while he devoured them by the bushel. 

How she would hold him in her arms and rock him back and forth when he was just a boy, and tell him fantastic stories of heroes and gods that pulled the sun across the sky.

And suddenly, the wind was not so harsh, the air not so bitter, the sound of leaves rustling not sharp and unwelcoming.

Lucien sighed. 

That would be his saving grace, today and in the days to come. 

His mother, his beautiful, wonderful, wounded mother would be there. 

He had not seen her...

He walked forward, leaves crunching beneath his feet as he tried to recall the last time he had seen her. 

A glimpse, Under the Mountain?

The last time they had spoken, though, was clear in his mind. 

It was the day his fiancée had been murdered by his father.

Lucien shook his head violently, as if to rid himself of the memory.

It was dangerous to reminisce now. 

He looked up, eyes narrowed in the dawning light.

The sun had just begun to rise above the treetops.

There would be sentinels nearby. 

And they would not be there to welcome their estranged prince back home. 

Moving forward in the direction of the palace, Lucien put a hand on the hilt of the sword at his hip. 

Beautiful and elegant, it would look merely decorative, or ceremonial to the people of the court. 

But once he made it inside... his brothers would see it as a challenge.

Lucien could only hope that Eris had better sense than the others. 

He had always been evil, but he was far more cunning and restrained, aware of politics and the public eye. 

Beron had cared little what the people thought of him. 

Only that they fear and respect him.

Eris had gained respect through admiration. 

And there were some in Autumn who still harbored love for Lucien. 

He scanned the treetops once more, the forest floor and the shadows of trees in his periphery, his ears open and waiting for footsteps, or the hiss of a sword.

Lucien had forgotten some things about Autumn. 

Now, as he looked up at the jewel colored leaves, he started to remember why it was so dangerous. 

The land, the plants, the fruitful trees and the bright, warm colors that spoke of good food, harvest, and companionship, was all a farce.

The beauty was a trap.A distraction.

Nigh on every creature in Autumn wanted to catch and kill. 

It was a court full of hunters and predators. 

There was a mask of polished society, of propriety and civility.A very thin mask.

Underneath it was savagery.

The citizens and rulers of Autumn were no better than well behaved animals. 

No matter how cunning and intelligent they were. 

It was all to satisfy some base instinct.

And yet, Lucien still found himself losing focus, caught himself admiring the trees as he had done as a child, before his father had beat the naivety out of him.

His path became loose and aimless. 

The fallen leaves around the base of the trees were spread out, glowing gold and vermillion.

Cardinals and woods birds hopped from branch to branch, and a swallow flew so near to his face that its wingtip grazed his cheek.

The sun had given the forests a halo, and beams of light pierced through the the ground.

A rustle sounded to his left.

Lucien's head whipped around, eyes sharp and alert once more.

His searching gaze landed almost immediately on a wide eyed doe, who had stopped in her tracks, staring at him with just as much caution and surprise as he stared at her.

He loosed a tense breath, and spun slowly once, eyes examining every tree and shadow.

Nothing.

Nothing but that birds and that damn deer.

He cursed himself soundly for falling prey to the beauty of the forest, and trudged onward.

This time, he was careful to keep his footfalls soft and his mind alert. 

In the time he had fallen into his reminiscent trance, he had covered a troubling distance, already closing in on the nearest village outside of the palace.

The sun, he noted, was fully risen now, and the morning frost melted.

Lucien's golden eye whirred, reacting to his sudden shift in mood and aggravation.

The wind had picked up now, and despite the cover of the trees and the sun, it's chill broke through and buried itself deep in Lucien's bones.

A shiver crawled down has spine.

It had been a long time since he had felt the scrape of such ill-meaning winds. 

Even when he had passed through with Feyre, he had been distracted enough, his kind elsewhere or too focused on keeping her alive to notice. 

Now, he was hyper aware. 

The chill raised the hair on the name of his neck. 

His own footsteps and the rustling of animals set his teeth on edge. 

They should have found him by now. 

Autumn sentinels always patrolled this close to the northernmost village, because it was closest to the portal.

By the time he made it to the clearing, the village within shouting distance, Lucien's nerves were raw, and his mood considerably worsened.

The blanket of fallen leaves thinned and disappeared as he stepped onto the gravel path.

The only sound in and between the dozen or so houses on this acreage was Lucien's boots crunching over pebbles and cobblestones.

Other than that, it was eerily silent.

And completely empty. 

Lucien stopped walking.

His eye clicked and whirred in distress, straining to pick up any signs of movement. 

He gritted his teeth and turned slowly.

It would seem, that Autumn court had emptied out.

Had Eris done this?

Was it a witch hunt for any and all who had supported their father?

Lucien's face paled and his stomach soured.

They were a harsh, cold people, but most of them were still simply citizens, content to live their own lives.

Nausea gripped him.

Was Eris worse than he thought?

Would he be a greater blight to this land than their father had been?

Lucien shook his head and snarled silently to himself, gathering his strength.

"Enough of this," he muttered, and winnowed.

Directly to the palace gates.

It would seem that Eris had moved every guard and sentinel that used to patrol the perimeters and the woods directly to the doors of the palace.

At least, it had felt that way when they had leapt into action the second he appeared in their midst, still dazed from winnowing.

"You there!In the name of Lord Eris, state your business here!"

Lucien felt two hands grip his arms and snap his back into an upright position and force him to his knees.

Gravel stabbed at his skin through his trousers, flashes of bruising pain radiating from his joints and the iron grips on his arms.

Despite his discomfort and the hot flashes of rage rolling through him, Lucien tossed his hair out of his eyes, revealing his face and this prosthetic. 

Recognition flashes through the guard's eyes. 

He was a low level soldier, outfitted with the standard leather tunic, padded pauldrons and a standard issue short sword. 

Lucien smirked.

"You and you're lads might have known my purpose if you had been at your posts, soldier," he said smoothly, with ice and venom. 

With a little less poise and self control, he would've spat at the guard's feet.

But he was saving that for Eris. 

The guard said nothing, but his eyes darted from his brothers in arms to Lucien. 

It was clear that he had no idea what the protocol was on the return of the dead high lord's son. 

But Lucien was getting tired of being on his knees before these fools. 

"Fetch your high lord, soldier.Eris is expecting me."

He grinned.

"Is a son not expected to mourn his father?"

The guard hesitated, but motioned to the two holding Lucien's arms.

"Up.Bring him."

Lucien's eyes were trained on the soldier, even as the brutes at his sides hauled him to his feet and pinned both of his arms painfully behind his back. 

He growled, but said nothing as they marched him forward. 

"Open the gates!"

The shriek of metal on metal ground against his ears, the rattle of chains almost deafening. 

The palace was hidden by massive wooden walls, every post sharpened to a spear point. The outer gates were two mammoth doors of oak and iron.

It greatly resembled a militant fortress. 

And it bespoke the paranoia of a long line of High Lords.

The ground shook as the gates creaked and groaned open, just wide enough to allow single file entry. 

The guards at his sides, whom Lucien refused to acknowledge, grunted in disapproval and dropped his arms, allowing him to slip freely past the gates and into the palace courtyard.

Their needlessly forceful grips returned, and Lucien fought back a groan as he stumbled, his arms roughly twisted against his back.

But the pain faded to the back of his mind as the palace loomed before him. 

There were three levels of battlements, each with four guards at, one at every station.

Their bows were at their sides, their quivers still full, but he knew better than most how quickly that could change, especially with their eyes trained on him. 

The rest of the courtyard was carpeted with a generous layer of fiery leaves, but otherwise bare. 

So far, the only thing that had changed in the centuries Lucien had been gone, was the sentry duty.

The metal studded doors, miniatures of the front gates, thudded as the bar was lifted, and the guard in charge pulled on the metal rings that served as handles. 

With some strain, the doors eased open, and Lucien was led back into the wolves den.

...

Eris sat in the antler throne atop a dais at the end of the long hall, where their father had sat for centuries before. 

Lucien's three other brothers, Brandt, Einar, and Hagan, stood stiffly behind him. 

Less than thrilled to have lost the competition, and no doubt already planning Eris' downfall. His older brothers were all the same as they had always been.

Straight backed, cold, harsh.

But Eris... he had changed the least.It was as though no time had passed since Lucien had last seen him.

Even his hair was shorn close to his scalp, a fashion insisted upon by their father, because they were warriors and cutthroats. 

It revealed the sharpness of his face, the arch of his knife like ears.

Lucien fought a sneer and a scowl, and failed miserably, as he was marched forward and thrown to his already aching knees.

A snarl escaped him at the bruising impact on the smooth stones. 

When he lifted his eyes, brow low, he found all of his brothers, save Eris, snickering like a pack of hyenas with a fresh kill.

The draping fabric of flags and insignias behind them hung heavily, velvet and leather, all colored dark greens and blood red, auburns, like tongues of flame.

Each was a battle won, a high lord's child born, a land conquered.

Or a high lord crowned.

Lucien had studied those banners, learned their marks and symbols.

Now there was a new one.

It was a deep, emerald green, with a symbol etched in the center in silver thread that he knew, but could not name.

Something that lurked in the back of his memories from his childhood.

"Hello, little brother."

Lucien's attention snapped back to Eris.

His voice was like frigid water, smooth and biting, but it rolled with something dangerous and deep. 

Lucien clenched his jaw, and flexed his shoulders under the weight of the guards holding him on his knees, but said nothing.

Eris dipped his chin ever so slightly, eyes fixed on his soldiers, and they instantly released him and retreated back outside.

The doors shut with a dull thud, and Lucien got to his feet, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck.

"Eris."

He took a deep satisfaction in the indignation and rage that spilled out of his other brothers' eyes at being ignored, unacknowledged.

And he made no effort to hide his smirk. 

It was all too easy to fall into the sadistic, twisted patterns of Autumn Court. 

A high ranking guard, outfitted in plated armor and armed with a spear in one hand and a sword at his hip, stepped forward from the shadows to Lucien's left.

"You will address the High Lord as such or not at all, faerie. Do not presume to be so familiar," he commanded, as though Lucien were a grunt in his army. 

Lucien raised an eyebrow. 

His mechanical eye clicked once.

Then, he threw his head back and laughed, his mockery echoing and scraping over the stone of the long hall. 

There was nothing warm or happy in his laugh. 

"I will speak to your high lord in any manner which pleases me, soldier."

Lucien turned back to Eris, whose face was stone.

He ignored the gleeful expressions of Brandt, Einar and Hagan.

"You sent for me-"

A gloved hand struck out and cracked against Lucien's jaw, hard enough to spark stars in his vision and send him reeling, stumbling back down to one knee.

Pain throbbed in his face, but before he could get his wits about him, a hand gripped his long, and now regrettably unbound, hair and yanked his head back, making him hiss and snarl at the hot needles of stabbing pain.

His golden eye whirred and spun and clicked with his distress as he was dragged forward, scrambling and clawing at the hands he couldn't reach.

The hands, which Lucien had deduced belonged to the high ranking soldier, dropped him at Eris' feet.

He could see in his periphery that the male was raising his hand again to strike Lucien.

Before he could, Eris' voice rang out in a commanding bark.

"Enough!Back to your station, soldier. You act on my command alone."

Lucien's head spun, and there was a dull ringing noise in his skull.

He could feel the bruise blooming on his jaw.

Eris didn't move.

"Get up, little brother. This has taken too much of my time as it is," he said.

Lucien forced himself to look up, his eyes traveling up his brother's now very near leather boots to his stoic face.

Once more, he stood.

But this time, Lucien fought the throbbing pain in his face, and spit on Eris' fine boots.

Eris looked down slowly, face still like stone.

When he looked back up, his eyes sparked and he stood.

Lucien refused to back away, even as he could feel his brother's steady breath on his skin.

Eye to eye, toe to toe.

Before Lucien could blink, Eris' hand was around his throat, squeezing, unbearably hot.

He strained, but refused to gag, or choke, or cry out.

Eris wouldn't kill him. 

Not yet. 

It was too anticlimactic.

So he stared rebelliously into his brother's eyes, the same as his own, and suffered silently.

Whatever had overtaken Eris was still there, blazing. 

And it didn't disappear when he finally released his crushing hold on Lucien's neck.

The effort not to sag and gasp for breath as the blood finally found somewhere to go other than his head was astronomical.

"Watch yourself, little brother."

Lucien watched through stinging eyes as Eris sat back in his throne, and gestures for the guard to return. 

"Take my brother to the emissary's chambers."

And that was it. 

Without another glance, Lucien was led away, out of the main hall.

...

The emissary's quarters were... lavish. 

Once he took the time to take in the room, after having been all but tossed in, the door all but locked behind him, Lucien was surprised.

Confused. 

Why would Eris waste such finery on a brother that he loathed? 

There was no one to impress.

Every noble and lord in the palace knew and hated Lucien. 

And there were no other courts present.

From the the shut doorway, he scanned his new, temporary accommodations.

His mechanical eye seemed just as confused as he was, having trouble processing the difference between the dungeon that Lucien had expected, and this. 

The stone floors were spotless, smooth and polished. 

A woven rug of gold and moss green lay spread out in the center of the room. 

The ceilings were high and arched, exposed beams stretching gracefully from the floor to the ceiling. 

The walls, decorated with ancient weapons and a large window shrouded by thick, dark green curtains, were covered in murals of forest folk, detailing a history of the beautiful and savage faeries who had allied themselves with Autumn long ago. 

The bed was in the furthest corner of the room, backed against the wall. 

Lucien almost smiled, amused by the fact that every bed in Autumn was set up like this. 

It meant that, if someone came into your room as you slept, you were always facing them, that you knew where they were coming from because the wall was to your back. 

He still felt uncomfortable in Night court because of that. 

Everything was free, open.

Vulnerable. 

Furs and pelts covered the bed; foxes, wolves, beavers, deer. 

The frame was solid, dark walnut, the head and foot boards carved with the images of hunters and animals. 

In the opposite corner of the room was a fireplace. 

Cold and dark. 

Lucien did laugh this time.

If the barren fireplace was supposed to be spiteful, the chill of Autumn pervading the damp stone walls, then Eris was not trying very hard. 

Without moving his feet, Lucien cast a hand in the direction of the fireplace, and a flame roared to life.

Stalking to the window, he gripped the heavy, velvet curtains and tossed them open, crisp daylight piecing his eyes and filling the room.

The view was incredible. 

His own rooms as a child had never been so beautiful, and he had surely never been allowed a view like this.

From his window on the third floor of the place, Lucien could see the stretch of ruby and citron colored trees spreading in every direction, farther than even his mechanical eye could see.

The only sound was the mechanisms in it working and shifting.

A tightness built in his chest, looking out the window.

It grew ever tighter when he turned back and drank in the room. 

As many terrible things had happened here... as horrible as his brothers had been and however worse his father had been...

There was still relief in his bones.

The cool air, the brilliant angry colors, the closeness and comfort of the setup of his room. 

It was familiar. 

And despite himself, Lucien caught the word in his thoughts.

 _Home_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Day Court- Classical and Medieval Egypt  
> *Night Court- Classical Mediterranean  
> *Dawn Court- Classical India  
> *Spring Court- Classical and Medieval Saxon and Gaelic regions  
> *Summer Court- Classical and post-classical Caribbean Region (I have very little knowledge about this region and it's history)  
> *Autumn Court- Classical and Medieval Scandinavia  
> *Winter Court- Classical and Medieval Northern Slavia 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't usually write fanfiction, and this is in no way my best work. I have my own views on the characters in SJM books and will try my best to keep them canonical in personality.


	8. The Conflict

By high noon, Lucien had changed out of his traveling clothes, which were torn at the knees and stained with blood and dirt. 

Not planning on a long visit, he had packed two tunics, one of fine, black cotton that was inlaid with gold and silver thread, (a gift from Feyre) and one of wool, just as fine as the last, dyed a rich cobalt blue with silver trim. 

He might have preferred a jacket, or a fitted vest that he had grown accustomed to wearing in Night and Spring, but Feyre and Rhysand has insisted that Lucien wear the fashion of Autumn Court.

Even if he took smug pleasure in refusing to wear their colors.

His father's funeral wasn't until tomorrow, so Lucien had chosen to wear his blue tunic.

With a grim sort of humor, he realized that it nearly matched the apple sized bruise on his jaw that still ached.

A thick leather belt cinched it low on his waist.

But now, though he was dressed for Autumn court, it would appear that his dear brother did not deem him fit to be seen in public. 

The doors to his rooms were not locked, per se, but two guards barred his way when he had tried to leave. 

All six times.

Now, Lucien paced up and down his chambers. 

The beauty and comfort of the room was lost on him.

Now that the imminent horror of seeing his sadistic brothers had faded, older and more constant plagues on his mind arose once more. 

The distance between himself and Elain had certainly helped. 

At least he wasn't coming into his fist every half hour.

But the bond still made it difficult to concentrate on the problem at hand.

Lucien would be trying to think of a solution, or plan out a strategy, and then he would feel a twinge down the bond. 

Something Elain had done, or thought, or felt, that just randomly struck him in the gut.

He had never longed for the distracting anxiety of dealing with his brothers more than he did now.

He found himself hoping that Eris would send for him, for the noon meal, but his hopes were dashed when a nervous, and yet disdainful servant was pushed through the doors and ordered to leave a plate of roast chicken on his bed. 

Lucien had not been given the chance or the time to pull the servant aside and ask for a message to be relayed. 

Stopping his endless track across the floor, Lucien gritted his teeth and gripped the foot of the oak bed frame.

It creaked and groaned, and his knuckles turned white, his shoulders and back right with the force he was outputting.

The wood continued to protest, and Lucien finally released his hold when smoke began to rise. 

In the place of his hands were two spot stained prints, a quarter inch deep in the solid oak .

He growled and spun away. 

It would be a long day. 

...

The moon had risen and the stars shining before a harsh knock roused Lucien from his frustrated half slumber. 

He sat up, pulse quickened, but before he could arise and make himself decent (his tunic and undershirt had been cast aside in favor of sleeping topless) his chamber doors were opened.

The knock, clearly, had been ceremonial at best. 

Half sitting, Lucien's eye whirred with disdain as he watched Eris stride in, the doors shutting behind him.

His older brother seemed to pay him no mind, storming to the desk beside the hearth. 

He grasped the neck of a clay decanter filled with honey mead and poured it into the mug that had been supplied to Lucien along with the food and drink for supper. 

Lucien watched, frozen, tense, and confused as Eris poured long and drank deep, draining the contents.

He seemed hesitant to set the mug down, eyeing the half full decanter, but he sighed and sat heavily in the chair at the desk. 

His eyes were closed and he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers rubbing his temples.

The only sound for a few endless minutes was the cracking and snapping of the fire, the light casting long flickering shadows and illuminating Eris' red hair and the deep shadows beneath his eyes. 

Lucien's shock began to fade into a dull rage that consumed him anytime his eldest brother was near.

Sitting up fully and swinging his legs out from under the furs, over the side of the bed, Lucien finally broke the silence.

"Most people wait for permission to enter a room before they intrude."

Eris didn't move, or open his eyes, but his fingers stopped working his temples.

"I knocked," he replied, voice low.

Lucien barked a cold, harsh laugh, but bit his tongue.

The snapping of the fire was getting unbearable in this new stretch of tense silence. 

"Why are you here, Eris."

It was Eris' turn to let out an ugly, humorless laugh, and at last he opened his eyes.

Lucien was startled by how bloodshot and exhausted they were.

"I am high lord, am I not, little brother? Is this not my home?"

Lucien stared at him. 

Even if he had wanted to respond, he did not know how. 

Eris looked... old. 

There were dark circles beneath his bloodshot eyes, his face gaunt and sharp. 

How had he not seen it before? 

And why was he seeing it now?

Eris sighed, and dragged a hand down his face before standing and turning to pour himself a second drink. 

Lucien stood as well, but stayed anchored to his spot by the bed. 

This was all so... intimate. Strange. Wrong. 

Eris, the eldest and most brutal son of Autumn, turning his back to a traitor? 

Lucien's eye whirred and shifted, as if trying to see something that couldn't be explained. 

Eris cradled the mug of mead and turned back to Lucien.

"Can't you shut that thing up?"

The eye clicked, and Lucien's brow furrowed.

"The eye. It's always clicking and whistling, the damn thing. Distracting."

The anger and irritation that had faded from Lucien's confusion came back in a hot spear. 

"I suppose you and our brothers would be happier if I were simply blind?" He replied, teeth gritted, jaw aching from the punishment he had suffered that morning. 

Eris only snorted and took another swig of his drink. 

"It's been a long time, little brother."

Lucien snarled.

"Not long enough."

Eris' eyes were unfocused, staring into nothing, but his lips were drawn down and tight, his brow knit. 

Lucien eyed him more closely. 

His pale cheeks were flushed and ruddy. 

He must have been drinking in the hours before this. 

No wonder he wasn't the stiff, cold, brutal man that he always was.

Eris was drunk.

He took another deep drink.

"Perhaps not. But welcome home, nevertheless," he muttered.

Lucien nearly choked.

"Welcome home?" He swore indignantly.

"Welcome home, Eris? Mother above, you've lost your mind," he spat.

He strode forward, no longer frozen, and stopped an inch from Eris' flushed face, smelling the liquor on his breath, oozing from his pale skin.

Lucien gripped the mead and yanked it from Eris' hand, spilling half of it before slamming it back down on the desk. 

Eris let him. 

Lucien glowered, eyes aflame and heat radiating off of him, rage tearing him apart from the inside.

He flung out a hand, rigidly pointing to the door.

"Out," he growled. 

Eris smirked, but it was empty.

"I am the master of this place. Of autumn. You do not tell me where to go, little brother."

Lucien roared and before Eris could react, he gripped the front of his tunic, hands flaming, and wrenched his older brother off of his feet, sprawling out to the stone floor.

Tendrils of smoke trailed up from Eris as he scrambled to his feet, unsteady, a wild and frenzied look in his eyes.

The chest of his tunic was charred and black, and the suffocating scent of smoke invaded the room. 

Eris grinned, and spread his hands, flames springing to life in his palms.

"I don't think you want to play with fire.I've always been stronger than you."

Lucien sneered at him, but Eris only laughed and the flames rose higher, dancing and spinning.

Lucien's own flames rose, smaller but no less bright.

But his rage overtook him, and again, keeping his flames alive, he charged Eris and struck him across the face, urging his flames to sear his too perfect skin. 

A wall of heatless flame stopped Lucien's burning fury, and though Eris took the blow to his jaw, eerily similar to the bruise on Lucien's own face, the fire had done nothing. 

Eris laughed again, but it was strained as he used Lucien's momentum to wrap an arm around his neck, pulling him into a chokehold of iron.

Lucien hissed and gnashed his teeth, pressing his blazing palms against Eris' forearm. 

Eris didn't budge, and suddenly there was cold steel pressing into Lucien's side.

He froze, webs of lightning spreading out from the knife point up his skin. 

Letting the fire die, he felt Eris loosen his grip and pull the knife away.

In an instant, Lucien was half a room away, snarling and glaring.

He wanted to kill him. 

He wanted to feel the life flee from Eris as he crushed his throat, as his flames consumed his skin layer by layer. 

Lucien hadn't felt this fury in a long time, and now that it was back, he had no qualms about releasing it. 

His only regret was that he had been overpowered by Eris twice in one day.That his life has been spared, only because of Eris.

Eris stood, watching Lucien warily, the smirk gone and replaced by tired frustration. 

The dagger in his hand lay flat on his outstretched palm.

"I don't want to fight, little brother."

Lucien snapped at him

"Don't call me that, you bastard!"

Eris sneered, and looked away. 

"Fine.I didn't come here to fight you, Lucien," he said icily. 

"Then why the hell did you come here," Lucien bit out.

A shadow passed over Eris' face, and he grimaced, casting the blade in his hand across the room.

"Damn it all, I don't know!"

The dagger spun and skittered to a stop, the edge slicing into the bed post. 

He took heaving breaths and frantically ran his hands through his short, copper hair. 

Lucien watched silently as Eris paced the floor, following the same path Lucien had, and his eyes followed his older brother when he finally braved himself against the far wall, near the window, and sagged to the floor. 

Watching Eris like this was like watching the ocean. 

To think you know something so well, and then have fear strike you down as it defies everything you have learned about it. 

The eye of a hurricane, a summer storm. 

Eris, the eldest son of Beron, had never looked so dejected... so lost. 

Like a child and a crippled old human at once. 

Lucien would have preferred it if he had been cruel and savage, if he had thrown Lucien into the dungeons with the rats and filthy things. 

He knew how to take that behaviour, that treatment, from his brothers.

But now...

Lucien couldn't choose between disgust, rage, confusion, or... pity. 

He swallowed hard, still watching Eris, who stared blankly ahead.

Yes, he felt it. 

A small spark of pity, for his brother who had tortured him, hunted him, loathed him, destroyed his happiness and his life. 

Lucien burned that feeling away. 

When Eris spoke again, his voice was hoarse.

"Perhaps... maybe I simply wanted to speak to my little brother."

Whatever conflicted emotions had been in Lucien's chest disappeared in a pit of boiling rage as his temper swelled once again.

"What right do you think you have to call me brother, Eris?!" he hissed. 

Eris pushes himself to his feet in an instant.

"The only right!" He roared.

"Out of all our brothers," he swept his hand in a wide arc, "I have the only right to call you brother!"

He was wild, jabbing furiously at his chest, voice echoing around the room and piercing Lucien's ears.

Lucien scoffed and curled his lip, but it was half hearted and confused once more.

"What does that even mean."

Eris shook his head and stalked back to the desk, past Lucien, and took hold of the mead pitcher, pouring more into the forgotten mug.

"Mother is gone."

If Eris has wanted to change the subject, he had surely succeeded.

Lucien's heart stopped.

"What do you mean she's gone?"

His voice was just as hoarse as Eris' now.

Eris took a long drink before answering. 

"She's not dead, Lucien.She left."

He waved a hand and downed another mouthful.

Lucien scowled and snatched the drink from his brother once more.

"Will you stop inebriating yourself like a common drunkard and explain yourself," he said coldly.

Eris glared at him, and proceeded to reach behind him to grab the pitcher, taking a long swig directly from it. 

"No."

Lucien gritted his teeth, but said nothing. 

His mother was gone? Where? Too many people hated Lord Beron's family. How could she be safe?

Eris sat once more in the chair at the desk, cradling the pitcher.

"I don't know where she went, only that she did. The day after father died."

Lucien raised a brow. 

"After you killed him, you mean."

Eris glances up at him, and one side of his mouth quirked you in a grim smirk. 

"Semantics."

Despite the fluctuating tension of the night, between trying to beat each other to bloody pulps and screaming and accusing, Lucien found himself smiling in a small, dark manner. 

He sighed, suddenly drained, and perched on the edge of the desk, elbows resting on his knees. 

"I suppose..."

He huffed a humorless laugh.

"I suppose I should thank you."

Eris glanced at him, took another drink, and said solemnly,

"I suppose you should."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Day Court- Classical and Medieval Egypt  
> *Night Court- Classical Mediterranean   
> *Dawn Court- Classical India   
> *Spring Court- Classical and Medieval Saxon and Gaelic regions  
> *Summer Court- Classical and post-classical Caribbean Region (I have very little knowledge about this region and it's history)  
> *Autumn Court- Classical and Medieval Scandinavia  
> *Winter Court- Classical and Medieval Northern Slavia 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't usually write fanfiction, and this is in no way my best work. I have my own views on the characters in SJM books and will try my best to keep them canonical in personality.


	9. The Promise

_I have found friends in a neutral court that have asked me to stay for a season or two, to help and to heal.My hands are far from tied, my son, and should you need me, I will be by your side in an instant.Please, be careful.You and I both know the savagery of Autumn. Do not let it cheapen your character, dear Eris._

_Stay safe and well, and may the Mother bless you._

_I love you, son._

_My prayers are with you._

_-Mother_

Arabella set down her pen and leaned back, letting the back of the chair pop her achingly tense spine.

Her hand was cramping up, stiff and protesting the many letters she had spent the morning and afternoon composing. 

The inkwell was nearly dry, and she had already refilled it twice. 

During her time in Autumn, Beron had refused to let her write letters out of fear and self preservation. 

So it had been many many centuries since she had put pen to parchment, and her lack of practice was evident by her less than perfect handwriting and her throbbing hands.

But more than her hands and her back, Arabella'sheart was heavy and aching.

Writing a letter to Eris, acknowledging that she had abandoned her boy to the wolves...

She had been selfish, to leave.

But there was a part of her, a very guilty part of her, that wanted to be selfish. 

That craved it, loved it. 

Being selfish meant being free from Beron. 

Being selfish meant ignoring the damning awareness that three of her sons were just like their cruel father.

Being selfish meant escaping the hateful stares of the people of Autumn Court.

Being selfish meant being with Helion, and living blissfully with him unaware of the terrible secrets she hid from him.

Arabella sank down into the desk chair, letters forgotten as she recalled her conversation with Helion two weeks earlier.

_"So then my dear.What have you been concealing?"_

_Arabella shuddered in his arms._

_"Helion..." her voice was merely a whisper._

_His hands moved in circles over her back, soothing and steady, but he said nothing._

_"I won't lie to you," she murmured._

_"There are things we must discuss."_

_Despite her efforts, Arabella's voice still quavered with emotion and fear._

_She pulled away gently, eyes downcast._

_"But I need time.I... please."_

_Tears welled and threatened to spill down her cheeks._

_She felt the gentle pressure of Helion's fingers beneath her chin, and she slowly raised her eyes to meet his._

_His face was all tenderness and sadness._

_"Ari, I may not understand, but you never have to ask my permission for anything."_

_Arabella closed her eyes as the tears finally fell, leaning into Helion's touch._

_She couldn't look at him as she whispered,_

_"Just... I need you to trust me.I can't tell you yet, but... soon.I promise."_

_When she opened her eyes, his brow was softly furrowed in concern and confusion, but there was no sign of frustration or rejection on his face._

_Arabella clasped his hand and held it against her sharp cheek._

_"But promise me," she begged, voice trembling._

_"Promise me you will forgive me."_

_He opened his mouth, the question written in his eyes, but she stopped him and another tear rolled down her cheek and along his hand._

_"Just promise.Please."_

_Helion's voice was thick when he finally replied._

_"I promise."_

Even after that... even after he had promised...

Arabella sighed and leaned forward, elbows on the desk and fingers massaging her temples.

How could she expect Helion to keep that promise when no man could ever forgive for this?

She wasn't even sure she could keep her own promise to him. 

Everyday that passed was another day she hadn't told him. 

Another day she slept beside him in bed and denied them both the passion that burned within them. 

Another day she had to look into his beautiful eyes, and feel as though she were lying to him.

But the moment she told him... she could so easily lose him. 

_Oh Mother, give me wisdom._

_Lend me strength._

An inevitable distance had grown between them in the last few days.

Not only did Helion know Arabella was keeping things from him, but he was constantly occupied with court matters. 

He talked to her at night about it, sometimes. 

She would run her fingers through his hair as he recalled the events of the day, the struggles, concerns and dilemmas he faced. 

The war against Hybern had done so much damage in such a short time. 

Helion has lost many great generals and friends in the fray, that he now had to replace. 

Amun was frantically attempting to find more crops to harvest and send as aid, while keeping their own court in good health. 

Rawer was constantly shifting and juggling funds, unsure precisely how much they could afford to sacrifice before they themselves would require aid. 

But Helion had the final say. 

His word decided what would be done, and set whatever consequences into motion.

The weight on his shoulders, the time spent apart, and the looming thought of her secrets had created such a sense of uncertainty.

How could she be there for him if she couldn't even be honest with him?

Arabella stopped working at her temples, and simply held her head in her hands.

The dying sunlight cast a red glow over the room, turning the parchment scattered with her inked apologies a faded scarlet. 

Oh how it reminded her of how the firelight would catch in her sons' hair. 

That cast of red gold.

Tears gathered and dripped down onto her lap, staining the dusty rose of her shendyt the same shade of the dying light. 

There was no dancing around the utterly desolate fact that Arabella had abandoned her children. 

Eris aside, she had not even contacted her sweet Lucien... precious Lucien...

Not since he had fled Autumn. 

For fear of Beron's wrath against her and her youngest baby, she had outwardly forgotten about him. 

Every day had been a struggle not to write him, to defy Beron and seek him out. 

Seeing him, brought low, bloodied and lost in the death grip of that Lord of Night...

Arabella had vowed to herself in that moment, that had Lucien died under the mountain, she would have gone with him. 

A silent sob wracked her body once, and more tears darkened her beautifully crafted linen garments.

What a mother she was. 

Visibly wasting away for years before her children, abandoning them for selfish freedoms, being weak and afraid and empty instead of the strong woman she should have been for them. 

Could have been.

Now, Helion could see it too. 

Even the man she had run to, left her children for... how could he love her, respect her as he once did?

She was a shadow of her past self, of the fiery young female he had fallen for. 

Humiliatingly skeletal, a shattered mess of emotion and fear, and now keeping vital news from him...

Mother above.

Arabella's weeping was no longer silent, though still strained and quiet. 

How long could she be weak and small before Helion abandoned her as she had abandoned her children?

Her bony chest heaved and her breaths came hiccuped, skipping.

Red hot pain spiked in her skull, but the tears still fell.

Doubled over, she pulled her knees up, hugging them and burying her face in her sparsely cushioned lap.

"Mother,"

"Mother, give me- give-"

Her breath gave out and she crumbled back into sobs once more. 

"Mother give me strength,"she finally whispered, catching her breath.

"Maiden give me courage."

Her voice shook dangerously and more tears rolled down her hot cheeks.

"Cauldron give me peace."

Cauldron give me peace.

It was almost comical. 

She had been praying to the Mother and the Cauldron for hundreds of years, and she had never known peace. 

Her strength had failed her and she had lacked every brand of courage in the face of adversity.

And still, Arabella prayed. 

Because in the end, she would never have anything else.

Not her children, not Helion, and certainly not her court. 

A court that praised the strong and preyed on the weak.

A court that had married her off to their sadistic high lord for her exceptional gifts and strong fire.

In the desk chair, she pulled her legs up, and sat there, curled into a small, undignified ball. 

How could she, in good conscience, send this letter to Eris? 

After leaving him so soon after Beron's death?

After he had killed his own father?

There were things about that night that Arabella had yet to disclose to Helion, along with so many of her secrets. 

But now, all these things...

They amassed in her mind, screaming her faults at her, crippling her. 

And it was as though she would never escape it.

The last shutter of light closed inside of her, drowning her in darkness as the voices betraying her failures became Beron's.

...

Helion leaned to his left in his seat, knuckle brushing against his lips, brow drawn down in deep thought.

In the war room, which had now become the council room, his advisors and commanders were all gathered together once more for a weekly draw up. 

In the past weeks, since even before Arabella had appeared like an angel of mercy at his door, the relations with other courts had deteriorated, as had the condition of supplies.

The one good thing in all this time passing, was that they had made excellent time in clearing out the mountain pass to send healers and aid through the mountains.

The bad thing, was that aid was running extremely low.

Helion listened as Raia, his Master of War, detailed the needs of the new ranks in the militia. 

The armory needed to be replenished, which would require more mining and increased costs towards smithing of armor and weapons. 

More experienced soldiers, being marched out for protection and transportation of goods to other courts, marched on their stomachs, and thus required greater sustenance to continue their missions. 

All tied together with Amun's previous update on the disease taking over the year's wheat crop. 

"The young recruits are learning quickly, but without the materials to train them properly, we have a short window before their training becomes obsolete and stagnant."

Raia was stoic and blunt, but the stress, exhaustion and worry that everyone so keenly felt was reflected in the shadows of his face and the tenseness of his shoulders.

"We lost too many seasoned soldiers in Hybern.I have half the leaders I had before.If I cannot continue the training of the recruits properly and soon, our armies will be less than half what it was, even with equal numbers.I need to make promotions.Soon."

The room shifted uneasily, whispers and murmurs of varying levels of concern rising up in a silent wave. 

Helion and all of his advisors understood that it was vital for Day to recover their military and their people within the next months. 

The war with Hybern was over, but there were servants of the bastard king still staining Prythian. 

Not to mention, the human queens and their new familiarity with the faerie lands. 

Helion felt a tide of overwhelming stress rising up inside of him, and he desperately pushed it down.

Still, he lounged to the side. 

Still, he kept himself loose and relaxed. 

Any show of strength, security and peace would help his men greatly. 

They looked to him.

They relied upon him.

Mother above, he was their High Lord.

This court's fate was his responsibility.

Raia paused, finished with his report, and looked at the parchment in his hands as if to find somethingmore that would bring more food, better troops, a greater store in their treasury. 

And then he sat, a disturbed expression upon his face.

It now fell on Helion to make decisions, to juggle their concerns and decide which of them was more vital. 

Silence stretched taught across the room. 

The golden serpent wrapped about his bicep was warm and comforting, and his brought up a hand to rub it mindlessly.

Then, Helion stood. 

Looking at Amun, he said

"Employ healers and the nature faeries, and take them to the wheat fields.See what they can do about the disease.If they cannot fix it, tell them to try again.Report the results to me directly."

To Raia.

"Continue your training.Have the craftsmen craft wood and stone tools until the smiths can be hired and the metal can be acquired for more armor.Salvage broken and rent armor and have it mended.They are not going into battle.They need to know the weight of their weapons and how to handle them, but they do not need protection."

Raia's eyes darkened, but his shoulders visibly fell in relief. 

"Rawer, have the traders increase communication with the human lands.They will want gems and fae jewelry.Report to me with every trade and every shipment."

A ripple of disbelief spread across the table.

His chief advisor, a female older than even him, Khemsit, stood.

"My lord, is this wise?We are verging in war with the human Queens.Trade will merely open Prythian and reveal weaknesses that they may take advantage of.I advise against this course of action."

Her dark almond eyes flashed.

The traitorous Queens had been responsible for her great grandchild's death. 

Helion pitied her.He felt her anger, he knew her pain. 

But he stood, and braced his hands on the dark table top, fingers stretching across the painted map from Autumn court to Night.

"I have spoken, and my decision is final.Trade with the human lands will increase our income three fold by my calculations.Some of the human queens are more willing to ally with us.Should we extend a hand, not only will we benefit, but we may just avoid a war."

He fought the growing urge to let a harsh bite creep into his words. 

"We will open trade routes with the humans.This meeting is over."

He swept out of the room, brushing past the massive golden doors with ease afforded him by frustration and fury.

And Cauldron boil him if he didn't want one thing, however selfish it may be.

To be in the arms of the one who loved him, the one whom he loved.

So Helion sought out Arabella. 

...

"What is wrong?"

Helion fought a groan as Arabella dug her magic fingers into the deepest knots in his shoulders.

He huffed a laugh and let his head fall forward, hanging limply down. 

"My Court is unhappy with my decisions."

She stayed silent, kneeling behind him on his bed, kneading and pressing and unlocking his tense muscles.

He paused, and then sighed.

"I cannot blame them. But there is no good decision, now. I don't know what to do, Ari."

He felt her lips on the side of his neck, and his nerves lit themselves with fire and pleasure.

Helion leaned into her kiss and her touch, arching and stretching, eager to have her lips on his own. 

Arabella places her cool hands on either side of his head and turned him to face her. 

Mother above she was beautiful.

Her red hair was loose, framing her face like an impossible masterpiece. 

Her eyes glittered like amber beads, her cheeks pink with a soft flush. 

"Kiss me," he murmured, voice embarrassingly hoarse. 

But it didn't matter, with the flood of desire in his body. 

In the week since they had made their promises to each other, Helion had had neither the time nor the strength to act on his physical wants for her. 

Ari wasn't ready, and... well after everything, knowing that she was keeping things from him... Helion didn't know if she even wanted him like he wanted her.Or if he could, in good conscience, feel that way about her while she was lying to him. 

But now... cauldron help him he was hard as a rock, his skin buzzing and tender.

Arabella's eyes met his, and all he could see was a brief sadness before she broke their gaze and dropped her eyes, hand slipping away from his face.

Something fierce gripped Helion, and he twisted to face her, pulling her close and crushing his mouth against hers.

She let out a soft noise of surprise, but melted into his kiss, opening for him.

He moaned against her lips, and internally cursed himself.

Damn him, he was the oldest high lord and this female made him want to finish just with her touch and a passionate kiss.

Helion softly ran his hands down her sides, along her leg, around to the inside of her thigh.

She whimpered, and Helion felt himself harden even more as his fingers traveled under her skirt, teasing and searching.

"Helion..."

Arabella's voice was weak against his ear, her breath warm against his skin, and he shivered.

"Lie back," he murmured.

Her body instantly obeyed, easing herself back.

Helion's blood cooled instantly when she stopped, and he glanced up at her face.

She was madly flushed, but he could see it beyond the panting and the maddening, wild scent of her arousal.

Arabella wasn't ready. 

Her arms came up around her midsection, the tiny sliver of pale skin that showed under her top.

Helion bit his tongue until it bled, but nodded and smiled. 

Mother above he wanted this female. 

But he wanted more than anything for her to heal. 

And so he would wait.

Forever if need be.

Tears welled in her eyes as Helion stood and adjusted himself awkwardly.

"I'm so sorry, Helion," she whispered, voice cracking.

Helion froze, dread and a sick feeling spreading out from his belly. 

And then he was there, on his knees before the edge of the bed, hands on the tops of her still thin legs.

"Never apologize, Ari.Never."

His voice was low, and though he tried to control it, he could hear it shake.

"I would wait for you, a thousand years.More.You are so much more to me than carnal desire.I want you.I do."

His hands tightened ever so slightly on her knees and his breath was shallow.

Her arousal was still potent. 

"But you, here, with me... it is more than I could have ever dreamed, Arabella.I gave up hope so long ago, that you would come back to me.And if you are never ready, if there is never a day when you can be with me this way, then I don't want it.And you should never be sorry for what you cannot do.Do you understand me?"

Helion's eyes were wide, searching, desperate for her to understand.

His voice was low and strained, and his heart aches as tears slipped down her face.

Mother, she was radiant. 

And strong.

And wise, and kind, and his.

She was here and she was his.

Arabella opened her mouth, her voice a terrible tremble.

"Helion... we need to talk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Day Court- Classical and Medieval Egypt  
> *Night Court- Classical Mediterranean   
> *Dawn Court- Classical India   
> *Spring Court- Classical and Medieval Saxon and Gaelic regions  
> *Summer Court- Classical and post-classical Caribbean Region (I have very little knowledge about this region and it's history)  
> *Autumn Court- Classical and Medieval Scandinavia  
> *Winter Court- Classical and Medieval Northern Slavia 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't usually write fanfiction, and this is in no way my best work. I have my own views on the characters in SJM books and will try my best to keep them canonical in personality.


	10. The Truth

That sick feeling in Helion's gut was cold and unpleasant. 

Arabella hugged her midsection, and tears continued to well and spill down her cheeks. 

Still on his knees before her, Helion pulled his hands away from her legs.

Despite himself, they hung limply by his sides. 

_Helion... we need to talk._

Had she lost her love for him after so many years?

Was she going to leave?

He cleared his throat.

"What do you mean, my love?"

Arabella raised her gaze and looked up at the ceiling, fingers pressing harshly into the flesh of her sides as though attempting to compose herself. 

Silence stretched, and Helion was loathe to break it. 

At last, Arabella loosed a shaky sigh, and closed her eyes, chin lowering to her chest.

Helion had felt fear in his long life. 

He had been beaten and cursed and cast aside, nearly died in battle, lost friends, lost wars. 

But he had not felt fear like this in a very long time. 

He supposed it was an over reaction, that they had needed to talk for the entire time she had been staying in Day. 

But she had left before. 

And things change after a few centuries. 

_Promise me you'll forgive me._

Dread curled like a serpent in wait inside him, but still he said nothing.

Arabella stood, sliding off the bed and floating to the twin desk chairs across the room.

Helion got to his feet and followed. 

"Arabella," he said, sitting across from her, voice gentle. 

"What is this about?"

She gave him a weak smile that died before it really became real.

"Helion, there are..." she cleared her throat. 

"There are things you need to know."

She paused, and looked at him warily, eyes wide and expectant.

It killed him to see the same dread in her eyes that he felt in himself, but he nodded for her to continue. 

Arabella twisted her hands in her lap, the rosy color of her clothing illuminating the porcelain of her skin. 

"You must listen to me until I have finished. I cannot do this otherwise, my love."

Now, more than dread, he was filled with concern, and still he nodded.

She sighed and looked down.

"Helion, you remember when... when I left. Well, when I never came back."

Helion wanted to open his mouth, to say something, but he managed to give her the same weak smile she had given him only moments before. 

Of course he remembered. 

The day she had left and never returned haunted his dreams. 

She continued on, though her voice was thick. 

"I never got the chance to explain to you why I never returned. I have no excuses," she said quickly, eyes fully on him again. 

"But I did have my reasons. When... when I returned to Autumn, I had every intention of returning to you. Going back to Beron was hell. I wanted no part in it but to see my sons."

She hesitated, and Helion fought confusion. 

He knew these things. 

Arabella was stalling, and he didn't understand why.

Again she spoke, her voice steadily getting weaker.

"A month later, I was making preparations to come to you again. As we had planned. I... I discovered that I was pregnant again."

Her voice stuttered and wavered.

Helion had assumed as much being that Beron's last son had been born months after she had left him. 

"Beron... when it was my time, he refused to let me out of his sight. With all of my boys. He had me under lock and key, and constant observation of midwives and guards."

Helion felt a fierce scowl creeping onto his face. 

The rage he felt for the late Lord of Autumn was generally unmatched. 

Arabella's breath caught, and he could see the silver line of tears once again staining her stunning eyes. 

"I tried to find a way to write you, but I was so afraid, Helion."

Her eyes were wide and pleading.

"I wanted to let you know that I had not abandoned you. That I couldn't come back. But Beron watched me, day and night. He wanted to ensure that this next child would be strong, another competitor for his throne."

Her composure had cracked and chipped, her voice shaking, her hands trembling.

She breathed in shakily, and Helion didn't know what to do other than sit, listen, watch. 

The tightness in his chest was strangling.

"When... when I gave birth to Lucien... Mother, he was so small. Beron- he took one look at my precious boy and scoffed at him. Blamed me for bearing a weak son.I spent days -weeks- begging him to let Lucien live."

Helion felt sick. 

His hands were clenched on his knees to keep them from shaking. 

Beron was an evil male, but to kill your own child?

Helion had never been a father, but he had wanted so badly to be. 

That anyone would harm their blood born son made Helion physically ill.

It was a battle to keep his mouth shut as Arabella spoke, but at the same time, he had no words. 

"He finally relented.Allowed me Lucien.Thank the Mother he didn't want anything to do with him.But... a few months after I gave birth, Beron found out I had been-"

She glanced at him, and the strife in her eyes was like a physical blow.

"That I had been unfaithful,"

Her voice was shaking again, and so, so quiet.

"He tried his best to find out who it was, but he gave up.And he never gave me any kind of freedom again after that.With Lucien at my breast, I was too terrified to try."

Now tears were falling once again, but she plowed ahead, staring at her hands that twisted fervently in her lap.

...

Arabella could feel Helion's gaze on her. 

She could smell the distress and anger pouring off of him in waves. 

He felt things so strongly.

_Just like..._

She pushed down a sob, staring at her hands without seeing them.

The stinging pain around her fingers told her that she had picked them raw and bloody in her anxious fit. 

Cauldron damn her, she had to tell him.Already, she was so close.

It was like a dam breaking, but at the same time like dragging her own body across nails and glass. 

The relief and agony clashed within her. 

And she couldn't speak.

Her hands twisted as her mind raced, spelling out every torturous way she could begin to tell him something so wildly important that he should have known for centuries. 

Silence stretched, she knew, but a rushing sound filled her head, her ears ringing.

"-i."

"Ari," Helion said, his voice shaking. 

At last, Arabella glanced up at him.

His own eyes were rimmed in red, his jaw clenched, his hands shaking. 

"May I speak."

Arabella didn't know what to say, so she let him say everything. 

"Beron was no male.He was a monstrous... thing that didn't deserve life.To treat your own son...."

His voice broke, and Arabella's heart along with it.

"If I had a son," he whispered, "I could never- _never_ \- do what he did.He was no true male."

Venom laced his words, but it was the words themselves that made Arabella's chest tighten painfully and she doubled over, clutching her belly, weeping with such force she thought she might retch.

When she felt Helion's warm, comforting hand on her shoulder, she shrugged away.

Better to reject his loving touch now than to seek it after the truth came out and he reject her. 

"Helion," she forced out, refusing to look up and see the hurt in his warm, beautiful eyes.

"Helion, I should- I... "

Arabella, still bent over her lap, took a deep shaking breath.

Chills assaulted her skin.

Nausea pervaded her senses.

"Lucien, he was always different from his brothers."

Looking at the sandstone floor, tracing the lapis veins with her eyes, she rocked herself back and forth as she spoke. 

As she tried to forget Helion was there.

"He was... kind.Good.Nothing that Beron did to him.. it never got rid of that.Even..."

Her breath caught.

"Even through all the pain," she gasped out, tears streaming down her cheeks. 

This was it. 

I have to tell him.I have to tell him.I have to tell him.

_But I am so afraid._

"I think... I think Beron knew.He refused to say anything because it would humiliate him, but he- he knew."

She murmured, almost to herself, and thought it sounded akin to the ramblings of a mad man.

Helion spoke, his voice soft.

"Arabella, where is this going?"

_Breathe in._

_Breathe out._

_Breathe in._

_Breathe out._

She finally forced herself to uncurl.

To straighten her spine, and she looked Helion in his eyes.

Her head throbbed, her heart ached, her stomach clenched.

"Beron knew.That Lucien wasn't his son."

A spark of recognition and realization lit in Helion's eyes, and disappeared just as quickly, his face unchanged. 

Mother above she was going to be sick.

"Helion," she whispered. 

"He's yours.Lucien is your son."

She watched, and her heart sank as his eyes seemed to glaze over, his body locked into place.

"You are Lucien's father."

It echoed in her ears.

But Helion... his eyes were unfocused.

She couldn't feel his emotions. 

There was a wall, a shield, that had dropped down the moment she spoke those words.

Arabella could glean nothing.

A sort of inevitable panic gripped her tightly, and the words just spilled out. 

"He's so much like you, Helion. Even when he was born, I could see it. As a boy he could light up a room... just by walking in. Lucien... he's so... so good, and bright. And even after he suffered so much, and... lost, he never truly lost that light. I... it was the only way I could reconcile not being with you. Seeing him, seeing your smile on his face, your nose, that same little pinch in your eyebrows when you think too hard..."

Her voice wobbled dangerously, but she could no longer weep. 

Her body was tired and weak and her heart hurt too badly.

One tear slipped away and chased the others, dripping onto her collar bone. 

"Helion, please say something," she said softly, so quietly, afraid to shatter the last stretch of illusions in her mind.

Helion didn't speak. 

She watched as he shifted, ever so slowly, and she could hear the protest of his locked joints as he painfully stood, unfurling halfway, and wandered aimlessly towards the doors of his chambers. 

Without purpose, without direction.

Like he was walking in a dream, but the curve of his shoulders betrayed the devastation she had wrought upon him.

Arabella's eyes followed Helion, her ears protesting at the unnaturally loud sound of the large doors opening, and finally closing, cutting off her view of the male she had loved so deeply, and now that she was losing.

She stared at the closed doors, but didn't call after him, didn't give chase. 

Sometimes, the pain is so deep that tears are not enough, and all that's left is numbness. 

Emptiness.

So Arabella sat, anchored in her chair. 

And she caught Helion's scent, just outside the door, ears tuned and straining until she heard the scrap of cloth against stone, of his back sliding down the wall to the floor.

This... she had known that she could not make him swear to forgive her. 

This was unforgivable. 

And it would be the end of them. 

After a thousand years, her secrets would destroy them. 

And it tore her apart from the inside. 

Weakly, her hands scratched at the wooden arms of her chair, deepening the intricate carvings, peeling off polish and stain, keenly aware of it caking beneath her already bitten down nails. 

But the raw pain... it was good.

It was a way for her to punish herself. 

Because she had watched everything she loved, crumble before her eyes. 

And now it was happening again.

She had done this.

...

Helion played Arabella's words in his mind over and over again.

_Father.You are Lucien's father._

_He was not Beron's son._

_Beron knew._

_He is your son._

_Your son._

_**My son.** _

His knees were weak as he sagged against the wall outside of his rooms.

His rooms that had closed in, become suffocating, the sunlight that had become blinding even as it died away. 

The rose oils and woods that became cloying and overpowering. 

He didn't notice time had passed until his vision began to dim and he forced himself to breathe again. 

Thighs burning from being stuck in a crouch, Helion let himself fall heavily to the ground, arms limp on the cool stone, back pressed against the ragged wall.

There was no doubt in his mind that what Arabella had said was true. 

How he had not seen it before... he had met Lucien.More than once. 

Never anything grand, simply in passing. 

But now... he cursed himself for not seeing it. 

A father. 

He was a father. 

A sharp ache tore at his chest. 

He was a father, and his child had suffered being raised by a sadist, a monster. 

Helion's son had grown up to be bitter and closed off, and there had been no way to stop it. 

He would never get those years back. 

He would never see his son as a babe, or teach him to handle a sword, train him on a horse, teach him to be a proper heir. 

All this flashed like a blazing fire in Helion's mind.

And yet it all disappeared in the wake of something brighter, something that created, that did not destroy. 

He had a son.

He was a father. 

And not only that, but he had fathered Arabella's child. 

She had said before that Eris was the best of Beron's sons. 

But Lucien was not Beron's son.

Lucien... Lucien was his. 

Shock still deadened Helion's limbs. 

Arabella... she had hidden this from the world for 500 years. 

She...

His stomach rolled. 

She had hidden it from him. 

For half a millennia, the female he loved had suffered, alone. 

Had kept a damning secret, alone. 

Had ensured their son's safety, had protected him, had endured Beron's wrath.

Alone.

And now, he had left her alone again. 

Shakily, Helion got to his feet, and his shoulder slammed painfully into the wall as he lost his balance.

But the blooming bruise and weeping scrape in his skin was nothing to him, and he pushed open the doors.

She was still there, in her seat, twisted around as though she had been watching the door. 

Her fingers scratched at the chair arms, and he caught a whiff of the metallic scent of blood. 

His heart caught in his throat, his breath stolen, at the look on her face.

Broken. 

She looked just as empty and broken and beaten as she had the day she had arrived at his door.

Helion stood by the doors, listening to them slowly close. 

Arabella had turned her head towards him, but her eyes were still downcast.

And suddenly, his reaction to her news had destroyed the progress that they had made in the time she had been in Day. 

Guilt pecked at him, like a carrion bird at a corpse.

Slowly, he approached. 

His legs were still weak, his stomach ill.And by all reckoning, his face must have been three shades paler.

He stopped before her, unable to gather the strength to sit in the chair. 

The only sound was her scratching at the carvings on her chair.

Helion watched as blood began to smear in the grooves that she picked at. 

Long minutes passed, until...

A shiver shook the length of her body, and though she refused to move,

"I am so sorry, Helion," she breathed, near silent. 

His skull throbbed. 

He should do something.He should respond, take her into his arms, comfort her.

But some confounded force held him back. 

"I am so, so sorry."

Helion stood and stared, frozen, until he finally forced himself to fall back into the chair across from her.

The loud drop of his heavy body into his seat drew her eyes up briefly.

He hated how beautiful her eyes looked after she cried. 

There should be no beauty in her pain, and yet everything she did was lovely. 

Even her tears, as much as they drove daggers into him. 

"I know I have no excuse.I know I was wrong.You have every right to never forgive me.Every right."

Weak, and tired. 

That was what her voice sounded like. 

Exhausted, and worn to the bone. 

The sound of her scraping filled the room and assaulted his over sensitive ears.

"Please, don't forsake Lucien.I ruined enough of his life.Let him know a good father, my lord, I beg you."

My lord.

Helion sat up, and knelt before her as he had so many times. 

He took her hands away from the chair, feeling the wetness of blood smear his palms, gripping her tightly as he forced her to look into his eyes.

"Arabella, look at me.Look at me!"

He shook her slightly.

She needed to see the genuine desperation in his eyes.

"I needed a moment.Perhaps I still do.This..." he shook his head and released a sigh that was meant to be a huff of laughter.

"This is hardly light news.But you cannot apologize for how you protected him. How you-"

His voice was thick and he could feel tears welling.

When he spoke again, one finally broke loose past his lashes and down to his lips.

"You protected our son, Arabella.Our son. And I... I wish so many things, Ari, but more than any of them I wish to have you here with me, and to have our son at our sides."

Arabella's tears may have stopped falling, but Helion's own were no longer keen on hiding in the wake of a newly found heir.

His voice was harsh, and low, and fierce, and just as broken as they were.

"Never apologize. I may have missed years with you, with our son, but if I had known... would that I had, but if you had told me... I would have started a war to get you both back."

Arabella leaned forward, and pressed her brow into his neck, body shivering.

Helion could hardly speak, but he continued on as his tears dropped into Arabella's copper hair. 

"I would have started a war for you," he choked.

"I wouldn't have been strong enough... I wouldn't have had the strength you did to sacrifice so, so much for the greater good, Ari. So never. Never apologize."

He released her hands and clasped the back of her neck, drawing her into a tight embrace, weaving his fingers through her tear damp hair. 

"I love you," he whispered. 

And through the pain, and regret, and guilt, he knew that Arabella didn't have to say it back for him to know: she loved him just as much. 

And they would find their son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Day Court- Classical and Medieval Egypt  
> *Night Court- Classical Mediterranean   
> *Dawn Court- Classical India   
> *Spring Court- Classical and Medieval Saxon and Gaelic regions  
> *Summer Court- Classical and post-classical Caribbean Region (I have very little knowledge about this region and it's history)  
> *Autumn Court- Classical and Medieval Scandinavia  
> *Winter Court- Classical and Medieval Northern Slavia 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't usually write fanfiction, and this is in no way my best work. I have my own views on the characters in SJM books and will try my best to keep them canonical in personality.

**Author's Note:**

> *Day Court- Classical and Medieval Egypt  
> *Night Court- Classical Mediterranean  
> *Dawn Court- Classical India  
> *Spring Court- Classical and Medieval Saxon and Gaelic regions  
> *Summer Court- Classical and post-classical Caribbean Region (I have very little knowledge about this region and it's history)  
> *Autumn Court- Classical and Medieval Scandinavia  
> *Winter Court- Classical and Medieval Northern Slavia 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't usually write fanfiction, and this is NOT my best work. I have my own views on the SJM books and will try my best to keep them canonical.


End file.
